


No Hero Like Me

by Spectre_Cross



Series: My World and Yours (Home Can Only Be In One Place) [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Assassin!Dick Grayson, Big Brother Dick Grayson, But now she's not, Canon-Typical Violence, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Dick changes his name, Dick/Wally is eventual, Fluff, Hurt Dick Grayson, Mary Grayson was alive, Mild Language, Older Dick Grayson, Other, Poor Dick, Rating May Change, Sniper!Dick Grayson, Team as Family, Universe Crossover, Wally and Dick being bros, Wingfic, Young Justice team, batfamily, no editing we die like robins, nothing graphic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-04-04 21:47:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 44,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14029428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spectre_Cross/pseuds/Spectre_Cross
Summary: They called him Palach. They thought that the legacy of the executioner was his.They had allowed the legend that the real Palach had built around herself to fool them. Even though Dick was a boy and surely not as good as his mother had been, they still thought him the Spectre Scythe.To the enemy, Palach was just a shadow. Lockliar had taken up the darkness that she had commanded before it could fade away.People outside of Spectre know his face - they didn't know that the real Palach was dead. Lockliar made sure of it. As far as they knew, Palach was just...An immortal rage monster.He wondered if that legacy would ever really grow again, in a world that had never known the evil that had created Palach.He supposes he'll have to make sure that creating that legacy would never be necessary.AU where an alternate version of Dick Grayson goes down a darker path for Justice.Until he's killed and wakes up in an alley, face-to-face with a young Jason Todd.He shouldn't be considering heroism when all he's ever known is life as an assassin.AU, Wingfic, Yaoi later on (But not the main focus)





	1. Her Name, Her Legacy

**Author's Note:**

> Some short notes before I begin.  
> Firstly, this is a wingfic. Everyone has wings. It's cool.  
> Second, talking about Dick Grayson, the main character here is him from an alternate universe. Now, the first chapter outlines a lot, but it isn't everything, and it was a world of war. He grew up with his mother, Mary, who never died on the trapeze. More will be revealed about him, but he does have a tough time. Very OOC.  
> Third: If you are here for gay smut, please leave. There will be no sexy times here - they may be hinted at, way later on, but there will be no graphic sex here. This story is 100% plotty. I'll add some fluff, but there will be no screwing.  
> There are some parts in this work that will be violent. There will be language. There may even be a lot of sadness. I will try to keep the tags up to make sure that's all marked out, but please be mindful. If this is a problem for you in any way, please don't read.  
> Last, this is indeed my first work of fiction, so do leave a comment if you have suggestions. If you have any ideas, feel free to let me know, and I might add it in.

Dick is three years old, and his mother comes home painted red.

She's crying, her tears carving clean tracks through the grime and viscera all over her face. She's dressed in her tattered armour, littered with holes and scrapes, blood that could be hers or someone else's oozing from between the plates.

It's not so out of place - she has come back like this before, when she has to fight like his uncle. He knows she prefers to use her gun instead of getting 'up close and personal', but he also knows that his mother is the best hero in the world, and she can do anything.

No, he doesn't worry about the filth, the blood, the injuries - he sets his eyes on the beautiful wings on her back, sleek and powerful and fast, and gleaming white in the light of the afternoon sun. He takes in the way the blood spatters across her feathers, dyes them crimson.

He looks into her eyes again, as the white lenses retreat, and he sees there a look of desperation, of despair.

Something was hurting her. Something that wasn't here, now - something she'd done.

"I'm sorry, Bird," She whispers, collapsing to her knees, and fixing sad, chocolate-brown eyes on his face, "I'm so sorry."

His uncle doesn't ever come home, and for a long time, Dick doesn't understand why she apologises so much, why she cries well into the night and curls away from him like she was trying to protect herself. He doesn't know why Spasitel (her new leader, a rising legend, who his mother thinks hates her) enters their home that night and envelopes her in his wings, lets her cry on his shoulder.

Dick had never seen someone try to comfort his mother like that before, and he hasn't since. He wasn't big enough that he could do much but let her hold him close to herself. But Spasitel...

The Seraph's Hero, Wayne himself, didn't hesitate. He ignored the way the blood immediately dirtied his wings (which were snowy white and no longer pristine), just shielded Palach protectively from the cold night air.

Like he was protecting her from the world, just for a little while.

Dick knows, now, that there are heroes almost as good as his mother - heroes like Spasitel, who stayed there all night so that his mother wouldn't have to cry alone.

He'll never be a hero like that.

 

 _"Is he Palach's_ son _?" Is what he hears from children who see him on the street, walking past them with his mother._

_"Yes. Come on, leave the poor boy alone."_

_Poor boy, he's not a poor boy. He is proud. He is Palach's son, yes, but he's Mary's son, her only child. He's a legacy of a hero, not just an assassin, and he knows that very well._

_He's honoured._

 

Dick hears the whispers, all over the base. People, civilian and soldier, see his mother walking along with her marble wings in full view, and shy away, as though they are afraid to get close.

They call her Palach - and he knows that that means killer, murderer, executioner. He's not so young that he doesn't catch on to that, after all. They look at her like she is a monster, someone to be feared, and in retaliation, Dick walks closer to her, puffs up his still-downy wings and glares at anyone who dares to treat his mother like that.

She only walks on, though - ignores them in favour of smiling down at him with amusement. She embraces their cruelty - she takes on the name they give her, wears it proudly, like a blessing instead of the curse it really is.

It makes no sense, but Dick's mother is the best of the best.

So, because Palach does not use her real name - not outside of their home, their haven - he decides not to use his. His mother catches on fairly quickly, because Mary Cross is the best. She only calls him Dick at home, and he feels closer to her - both of them going by names that aren't theirs. It's like a game - see who can keep the secret longest.

His mother doesn't mind - she just nods and lets him join her in the shadows.

She is still shielding him from the world and its cruelty, but now also from the light of the sun that was supposed to take her, embrace her, treasure her for the blessing she was.

(Because that light burns, now. It is not warm or accepting - it is harsh, and difficult to live with, and he tolerates it only because he would rather the scorching sun than the darkness that comes with their enemies.

Not darkness, just absence - loss. Of everything - humanity, life.

Of hope.)

This is how it has been - for as long as Dick can remember, now.

It changes, though. Dick and his mother are moved to a different base ("I was only here for your uncle, Dickie - he is gone, and it was only a matter of time. Spasitel has no true place for _this_ sniper, no matter what he says."), and there, there is only his mother's reputation as a powerful warrior to precede them. They are oddly welcome in this new place, by these new people, and his mother's new squad treats her with the respect that she deserves.

She stops walking around with her wings out - which isn't really that odd, because many do the same - but her eyes burn every day with a certain kind of light, a fire to replace the ash.

He hears people whisper things about her still, but they are different, because she holds her head higher not because she must, but because she is truly proud, truly feels stronger because there are people who do not despise her.

Spectre Base is a place of killers, not like the hovel of 'Nobility' that Primer was. These people are a mish-mash of different kinds of soldiers, a hundred squads filled with the best of the best, and they know her, her title and her achievements and her incredible skills, and some of them go _out of their way_ to talk to her.

Snipers, mostly. They could talk for ages, and Dick would just watch his mother grow more and more animated with a warm feeling in his chest.

(Although trading stories and advice about long-range murder is a bit of an interesting topic, Dick takes what he can get.)

"That trickshot, a couple of years back. Den-El? How the heck did you do that?"

"Deflector panels. Spasitel stashes them in his armour, sets them up whenever I need them. Good man, Spasitel."

"I thought the JR-117's weren't in circulation any more?"

"They aren't - this is my weapon. I built it."

And always, always, there would come a point in the conversation where the other would stare at his mother with stars in their eyes. One word would slip from their lips, and his mother would blush and duck her head.

" _Awesome_."

(Dick gets the feeling that these people, who are so similar to his mother, understand the disdain that his mother faced. But they are all assassins here - they are all killers. None of them judge her or murmur about her when they think she doesn't know. This place is...

Somewhere he could call home.)

Her squad is not large, here - and of the eight of them, his mother is undoubtedly the most experienced, for she is nearing thirty now. He knows that Palach's old squad was thirty-people-strong, with Spasitel at the top, but these are covert squads, and they are smaller.

Deadlier.

He likes Syx the most of all of them, not in the slightest because Syx was his uncle's partner, and more because he always greets his mother with a nod of respect or a warm embrace. His wings are the colour of molten gold, and so broad that he could cover Dick from head to toe if he so desired. Syx was made to be a warrior, a protector.

His mother needs to be treasured - protected, fought for, respected.

(Spasitel had protected her when he could, back at Primer base. He never liked her methods - Dick knows that he regards snipers with a measure of disdain. But for some reason, he had been the only one with any measure of respect for Palach.

Dick didn't know why - it could be because of her skills, or because she was so good. It could be because he was a good man with, like, a dozen kids he'd adopted off the streets. It could even be because the man's wings were the same stark white colour as his mother's own.

Whatever is was, Spasitel walked beside her instead of in front of her, where he should have been.

It was enough that Dick had accidentally referred to him as Uncle B.

Spasitel looked ready to cry, but he doesn't cry. Red Ledger did laugh, though, and tell him that he'd be missed, ruffling his hair because he may be younger, but he was also taller than Dick, and Red Ledger is a fricking asshole.)

It comes to Dick's attention that the only name these people know to use for his mother is the title that she had carried for as long as Dick could remember - the one that was said with such disdain, but never loud enough to be heard. For some reason, though, it doesn't bother him. It is a comfort.

His mother is still the same, still in that habit of only using her name at home. It's okay, because her title is truly a crown, now. It is good, it is respected, it is recognised as the mark of a mighty warrior.

Dick is six years old, and his mother is Palach, the Scythe of the Spectres.

 

_"This your boy, Palach?"_

_"He's my son, yes. Dickie-bird, this is Ana."_

_"He's cute."_

_"He could eat you, Ana."_

_"... He's certainly your boy, then."_

_He's always Mary's boy. He's so proud._

 

Dick learns when he is ten years old what it feels like to be truly alone.

His mother tells him goodbye, like she always does, and leaves to meet with her squad for a new mission. He stays with Syx, who has his arm in a sling and his wings tucked tightly against his back. The mission is meant to last for close to a week, this time, but that's okay.

They wouldn't ever complete a mission if Palach wasn't there. Dick knows she's the best.

He hopes one day he has even a fraction of her strength with him, because he thinks that with it, he could carry the world.

Syx doesn't laugh when Dick tells him this - he just nods seriously, and tells Dick softly that his mother is the strongest person he knows.

A week passes, and Dick waits for his mother to come home.

Another week goes by, and Dick thinks that she must have been given another mission without being able to drop by - it has happened before, and while worry sparks in his gut, he lets it slide - though he keeps his ears open.

Another week.

A month.

Two.

Two and a half months after the mission, he arrives at Syx's home and finds him on his knees on the kitchen floor, his now-healed hand clapped over his mouth and a phone embedded deeply into the opposite wall.

Dick knows instantly what has happened. He knows because Syx has done that odd little thing that his mother does, crushing a stone in his fist. He knows because Syx gives him a look that is positively panicked, and when he utters his name - his name, Richard, which he hates to hear but loves as well - his voice cracks.

Dick knows instantly that his mother is gone.

He doesn't think about Syx, or the sounds of confusion that come from the lounge room as the rest of the team make their appearance (they look exhausted, haggard, and there are welts around their wrists and necks and pain and shock in their eyes).

Dick runs.

Dick runs as fast as his legs can carry him, makes great leaps and flaps his wings as hard as he can to get further away from Syx's home.

He knows he is crying, but he doesn't feel it. His tears are whipped right off his face, His ears defened by thunderous roars, and he is nearly overwhelmed by the way it almost feels like the sky's trying to rip him to pieces. He doesn't know anything but the pain in his heart, the ache in his soul.

He pulls into a sharp dive, calls on the metallic strength of his battle feathers, and opens them ever so slightly.

The harsh winds whistling through his feathers is nowhere close to the musical hum that his mother made whenever she came home, the thrumming sound of wing-music far superior to any song.

He doesn't hear her music. He doesn't hear her laughter or her soft voice, doesn't see the kempt sleekness of her wings (like a falcon, built for speed and power alike, for diving and twisting in the air like a snake, like a predator, like an angel). He doesn't smell the smoky-cinnamon scent that he knows so well, doesn't know who will catch him should he fall from this height-

She's gone. Dick's mother is gone.

Dick screams, and his world breaks down the middle.

 

_Dick is Mary's boy, Mary's son, Mary's kid. He's the poor, unfortunate soul whose mother was first an assassin, and then dead. He's so sick of people associating his mother's name with the pathetic, weak child that he is._

_He wishes that Mary's legacy could be known as something better._

_He wishes that Mary's legacy was not encompassed by Palach's._

 

Lockliar knows that fourteen is pretty young for a sniper, but he is every inch the prodigy that Syx has claimed.

He has fought for the right to be where he is, proven himself again and again, and he wonders every day if his legacy will ever be anything like Spasitel's or Predatel’s.

Or Palach's.

He had trained for a long time - relentlessly. He had the advantage of all of Palach's knowledge, he'd inherited her skill, and over time, he knew how to use her rifle better than how to work the showers in the barracks.

He wasn't anywhere close to being the best, he knew that, but he was no slouch. He truly _belonged_ here - he had carved out his place, among the elite snipers and assassins and killers of Spectre division.

He deserved to fight, to be treated as an adult, a warrior. He was never treated as a child, because in this world, you stop being a child when you take up the responsibility of fighting for your home.

Lockliar knows that, were he not on a covert squad, were he a front-line fighter, a prodigy like Spasitel had been, like Predatel, his name would absolutely be a symbol instead of a murmur. But he was an assassin, so Lockliar was less a hero and more a shadow.

He was far from Palach, for that name had its own looming _presence_. It was a representation of something dark and bone-chilling. Lockliar was just a murmur of sound, a whisper of the Executioner's legacy, because he was covert.

His name may never be known outside of Spectre.

... In all honesty, covert his _ass_ , because his partners tended towards explosions and flashy shite instead of the creeping shadows of death that assassins were.

No matter how much Tern tried to protest that it was Ledger who was an attention-seeking imbecile, Lockliar knew very well that both of them shared Ledger’s flair for the dramatic.

They were brilliant assassins, don't get him wrong.

Jason was broad and powerful, and the way his crimson feathers glinted when he hardened them into bulletproof armour made him practically unstoppable. He didn't have the same liquid grace and blinding speed that came with sparrow wings like Lockliar's and Mockingbird's, but he was precise and merciless - he could slit a throat with ease, take out any opponent in seconds. His fighting style was brutal, powerful, and mixed in with his wings and guns, he was like a one-man army.

Damien, on the other hand, was a fair bit younger than Lockliar and still the most terrifying little hellion that he'd ever met. Lockliar almost doubted that he was Spasitel's son, because while the kid was cold and calculating, he was also absolutely vicious. He never hesitated to kill, never really lost a fight. He was a terror in every sense of the word. His wings are leathery and black, and while he doesn't have the ability to make them nearly-indestructible as his rumoured mother was able to do, they are tipped with curving talons, sharper than knives and tougher than stone.

He can't very well use his wings as shields as Lockliar and Ledger were liable to do, but with the kryptonite-tips to his talons, he could take down anyone.

Probably would. For necessity, or for kicks.

Lockliar was absolutely smug that he was the third factor to that particular equation, because it meant he was good enough. He's also very proud that he'd saved their lives countless times in the year they'd been a team, and he isn't afraid to lord it over their heads upon their return.

Lockliar is a petty bitch like that.

While Red Ledger and Tern are on the field, Lockliar lies down on his belly in some crevice that people wouldn't expect him to be hiding in. He picks off anyone who looks like they're getting too close, scans everywhere for anything new, anything threatening that could present a problem for his treasured partners.

Mainly, of course, the Kryptonians, who fly in and hover above the battle, looking for snipers and taking them out before they go in for the rest.

Too many times, Lockliar has had to sling his rifle over his shoulder and make his feathers stiffen and strengthen, like his mother showed him. He's had to leap from buildings and throw green-dust and let loose supersonic charges just so that he won't have his skull crushed. Every weapon he owns is, as an unspoken rule of Spectre, coated or tipped with kryptonite, even though most of the people he kills are human.

Even though only a small percentage of battles end up involving the Kryptonians, the moment you're unprepared is the moment you'll end up dead.

Really, preparedness is the reason Lockliar returns home after every single mission.

Snipers are just as likely to have to resort to close-combat as the soldiers, unfortunately, and the fact that a lot of newbie snipers can't handle close-combat is why they so often have to be replaced.

Yeah, Lockliar doesn't just have to worry about himself.

He has to worry about his teammates, who rely on him to take out any threats they themselves can't deal with.

He has to worry about the other snipers, especially the newbies, who are almost always stuck with him (not because he's a newbie, but because there's apparently a certain measure of humility that can come from realising there's a fourteen-year-old who has to fucking make sure they don't get fucking got).

He has to worry about all the people who die on the battlefield, their yelling audible both in real life and through the comms before they short out.

And also the specialist sniper-shankers.

Assholes with guns and knives, whose sole purpose is to hunt down enemy snipers and take them out.

See, that pisses Lockliar off, because Spectre doesn't have sniper-shankers. Spectre knows that only the lowest form of scum would send someone after snipers instead of sniping the snipers themselves - it's the ultimate insult.

Lockliar hates them, and whenever one of them shows up, he's usually the one who pulls a pistol to fucking end them.

Weirdly enough, though, it's Jason and Damien with the shanker-senses. They always know when there's sniper-shankers. They just _know_ , which is lucky, because Lockliar doesn't usually notice them until one of the snipers gets got (Which is always a sensitive topic for him, because snipers are supposed to see everything and they don't have spotters because you have to be your own fucking spotter and Lockliarcanneverfucking _seethemcoming_ ).

The brothers were, honestly, pretty important to Lockliar;s survival, because every so often, before a battle, one of them would turn to him and tell him that there's probably going to be shankers.

Lockliar saves them. They save him.

It's good.

Lockliar's squad, because the members of it are a lot younger than most, gets at least a couple of missions every week, all of them supposed to be covert. In times of crisis, though, they could be touch-and-go at the base for days, taking day and night assignments and support and battle roles. It can take weeks before they manage to get things under some sort of control.

It's... bizarre, intense, different than what he expected because Palach had always been busy, always had a role to play, but there's a certain rhythm to his life now, something that he understands and lives by. It's far too familiar.

Perhaps Lockliar is a little bit young to be a soldier, a killer - a bit young to be used to this kind of life. Perhaps, in another universe, it might be wrong.

But in his world, this is the closest thing to good that he can get.

 

_Lockliar is not Mary's boy. Lockliar is Palach's legacy. Lockliar is vengeance and strength and the one who everyone knows is going to take Palach's place._

_Lockliar is worthy._

 

Lockliar is soon to turn fifteen when Ledger brings up his father following a failed mission.

He tells Ledger that his loyalty is to his mother's people, because his father's race is full of monstrosities like the ones that tore her wings from her back. Ledger seems surprised, and tells Lockliar that he wasn't questioning him - he only wanted to know if Lockliar was... Alright.

Alright with the complications with his bloodline. Alright with the distrust that he knows will come when people figure it out. Alright with the scathing words that come from whatever Kryptonians manage to speak with him.

Ledger doesn't bring it up again, and Spasitel calls for the specialised squad for aid in a reasonably major operation not long after.

(Lockliar never really cared for trust, but Spasitel's boys are alright for a bunch of moody showboats)

 

 _Lockliar walks around with his sniper's mask on. He has his contacts in, his war paint smeared over the skin around his eyes, and he crops his hair short. He walks with his shoulders back and his wings out, and always,_ always _has his rifle with him._

 _He is not Palach, but he_ is _. People know his name, start looking at him with something like awe, because this..._

_This was the son of Palach, a legend among Spectre. He was Lockliar._

_He doesn't think anyone but his team really remembers his face, his name, his real name, but that's okay._

_He'll take his mask off when Lockliar isn't needed anymore._

 

Lockliar is fifteen when his base is discovered and overrun.

He wakes up in the middle of the night and Syx tells him, quietly, to pull on his stones the way he's been taught.

Lockliar does so, and the sickly green light shines faintly through the skin of his fists.

Syx gives him a weapon - a knife, because Syx has no rock-bullets and Lockliar had learned to fight with knives before he could walk in a straight line. He lets Lockliar grab his rifle (not always his, but it is now), then bounds out the door and launches into battle with their attackers, calling out to his squad for aid while Lockliar gets onto the roof. He only has one cartridge of rock-bullets handy, and he curses the fact that he's not allowed to have more with him.

He has forty normal bullets, and he makes use of them as best he can from his perch - too close, not far enough away. Despite the proximity, his aim is true -his bullets lodge themselves deeply into heads, hearts, throats. The people below were unprepared for the attack, but no second went by when there weren't backup plans.

The sidewalks are littered with Synthetic Kryptonite dust. It's not strong enough to truly weaken, but it is enough to slow the bastards down when they finally arrive.

When they do, Lockliar has all of five seconds to switch out his bullets for the greens, knowing full well that this was his priority now, that his squad would have to handle things down below.

He fires one shot, and one of the Kryptonians falls to his knees, scrabbling at his chest even though the skin has already closed around the green bullet. It's a small victory, but now the Kryptonians aren't just trying to kill everyone - they're looking right at him, even as he turns the barrel of his weapon straight at another and nails her right between her reddening eyes.

Thank fuck for them slowing down. Lockliar doesn't particularly want to be barbecued.

He has to duck out of the way before he can shoot again, because one of the others had opened up their angry-alien-heat-vision, but luckily, the rest of the squad is a major threat now that the Kryptonians aren't invulnerable.

They have green-tipped knives, and Lockliar knows that every single one of them has the (slightly painful) kryptonite implants in their hands and attached to their wing-bones.

Spectre is a place filled with killers and paranoid assassins.

Nobody here is really unprepared for a situation.

Lockliar manages to fire a total of seven shots (two of them dodged neatly, fuck) before he has to choose between dropping his gun and getting dead. He releases his rifle, pulls his iron-feathers, and leaps away from the furious alien in front of him before they can crush him.

After that... He does what he can. Slashing at his opponents with a speed and professionalism that isn't anywhere close to Syx's or Ledger's or Tern's, his fingers itching to take up a gun that no longer sits between his wings. He slashes and strikes and tries really hard to match their speed, but it's hard.

Lockliar is all of fifteen years old, and these people are capable of so much more than he is. Even if he had his gun, or more bullets, even if he had more time, Lockliar is fifteen, and he's not ready for this much combat at this range.

The squad protects him as best they can, and Lockliar mostly sticks to human opponents.

They're easier to take down than they should be.

Something changes, though. Syx lets out a scream, and when Lockliar turns to find him, he is gone. Another squad member - Ana, whose voice is grating but whose presence is more bearable than most - falls, and they're falling all around him now.

(He doesn't question the lack of emotion. He doesn't even hesitate - he just keeps fighting, doesn't feel any regret.

It doesn't worry him. It doesn't matter.)

Lockliar searches for a solution, an answer - and there is a gun, one that's probably twice his size, pointed directly his way and accompanied by a cold smirk and icy blue _Kryptonian_ eyes.

He thinks of the time, of the suddenness of the attack, and realises that this is nothing more than an orchestrated slaughter.

He thinks of his mother, and anger grows in his belly when he realises that these aliens want to make her sacrifice worthless.

Lockliar wonders, as the terrible red light comes streaking towards him, too fast for him to dodge and too huge to leave any part of him unscathed, if heroes are simply born to fight war they'll never win.

Something snaps within him, and a wave of... something, builds in his belly, a burning, scalding sensation, and when the light hits him, he screams.

He knows that when Tern and Ledger return from their short vacation to visit their family, there's not going to be anything left to find.

 

_The Kryptonians called him Palach. They truly thought that he was his mother._

_They had allowed the legend that his mother had built around herself to fool them. Even though Lockliar was no woman, and nowhere near as good as Palach had been, they still thought him the Spectre Scythe - because only a select few of them had ever truly seen the legendary sniper, only a select few remembered her face. There were no real reports of what she looked like, or even if she was a girl._

_To the enemy, Palach was just a shadow. Lockliar had taken up that darkness before it could fade away._

_Lockliar revelled in it. Lockliar was called Palach as much as he was his own title, even in Spectre (though the name was said with a sad smile and a tap on the shoulder - acknowledging a fallen hero)._

_People outside of Spectre didn't know his face - they didn't even know that Palach was dead. Lockliar made use of it - as far as they knew, Palach was just... Immortal._

_He wondered if anyone would realise now that Lockliar was different (even though he was so much like her)._

 

Lockliar doesn't know how long he's been drifting when he suddenly finds reality again.

When he finds Jason.

Lockliar's last memory of his honorary-brother was of a fourteen-year-old asshole with a penchant for dramatics. Jason Todd, who had made a name for himself as Red Ledger, was a hulking mass of spite and sarcasm and fierce protectiveness. He was confident and strong and powerful in a way that Lockliar had never been able to mimic.

(A different kind of strength to Spasitel's mulish stubbornness. It wasn’t the emotion that his younger brother, Duke, fought with.

Not fire, not water, but iron.)

Most of all, though, he was Lockliar's brother, and Ledger and Tern were two of very few that Lockliar would ever trust with his life.

The boy before him is undoubtedly Jason Todd - younger and smaller, yes, but there's no mistaking those eyes, which burn with that same light that Lockliar knew so well.

But... He's skinny. Unhealthily so - even the orphans back home had been fed enough that they could take care of themselves. He's curled up into a tight ball, wrapped in his own wings to escape from the bitter cold and the rain. It tugs hard on Lockliar's heartstrings, and he's angry that anyone could allow a child to exist in such a way.

He knows that his mother would track down the parents and bring them to their knees in a square.

Lockliar can only carefully flop his wing over the boy's head (it's not the most graceful or careful gesture, because really, he's never been the best with people) and tilt his head at the startled expression that flashes across Jason's face. The boy can't fully see Lockliar's own face - he is still wearing his mask over his nose and mouth and cheekbones, and he knows that the way his contacts make his eyes turn milky unnerves him.

"Who are you?" The boy asks, his voice full of fear and distrust, and Lockliar doesn't really answer - he just reaches forward, brushed the pad of one finger over the bruise on the kid's cheekbone, and he recoils.

"Who did this to you?" Lockliar asks, his voice soft. He hasn't spoken in a while, and it shows. He sounds sort of like his mother, who spoke so little, but always said so much. He wonders if he has the same effect.

The boy tugs away from his grip, but he's shivering, and doesn't move away from the shelter of Lockliar's inky black wing. Lockliar glances back at his downy wings, takes in the way the fluffy red feathers stick up all over the place.

He feels another surge of anger, because this is but a child, but he holds his wings so close, so much like the old, paranoid war veterans that he knows from the base. He wants to take the boy to the nearest empty room and bundle him up in blankets, build a nest that is warm and dry and safe because he has never, never seen a child so horribly alone.

Children are to be treasured - they are the next generation, the hope for the future, the ones who bring with them the possibility of continuing, of upholding a legacy. They are more precious than anything in the world.

He wants to rage, to scream, wants to question what kind of world this is that a child so small could live like this.

"You have beautiful wings," Lockliar says instead, and the boy looks startled. It's not what he wants to say, but it is the truth. The shape of them is familiar to Lockliar, and he knows that this boy would grow to have wings like Syx's, broad and powerful and warm and powerful.

"... Thank you," The boy mumbles, wrapping his hands around himself and curling in a little bit more.

Lockliar remains silent for a second, not sure what he's waiting for, then offers, "You are welcome." Jason's confused, distrusting look has Lockliar pulling at his mask, lickling his lips and trying again. "My name is Lockliar."

The boy looks sort of amused. "That's a stupid name."

Lockliar tilts his head, smirking. "How could you say such a preposterous thing? My heart breaks."

The boy laughs, then looks down, and Lockliar frowns, concerned. "Are you alright?"

He nods jerkily, and Lockliar almost draws his wing away. But he catches a flicker of longing when he moves to move, so he just moves a little to drape the feathery mass more comfortably over the boy's shoulders, like he can fight away the warmth with sheer force of will.

"What is your name?" Lockliar asks gently. The boy tilted his head, a flicker of doubt crossing his face.

Lockliar can't bring the child home - after all, he has nowhere to go. This isn't the world he knows. So he ends up sitting next to the small boy, allowing him to first fall asleep on his armoured shoulder and then curl up into his side, shivering. He envelopes the boy in his wings as much as he can, not caring that his hair gets wet and his butt aches on the hard ground.

Lockliar doesn't know how old he is when he meets Jason Todd once more. He does, however, know that the first thing saw upon waking was a boy as old as he was when he lost his mother, curled up and lost on the street.

He knows little more than this Jason's name, because he would be different than the one that Lockliar remembers, but he promises himself silently that he will protect him as best he can.

 

_It's strange that Lockliar can so easily put a gap between Jason Todd and Red Ledger._

_Red Ledger was a warrior through and through - tough, strong, and powerful, and all the best things._

_Jason Todd is soft, small, and hurt. Hints of Ledger remain there, in Jason's eyes, in his voice, in his slowly-strengthening body, but really, Jason Todd is not Ledger. He is not strong like he needed to be in Lockliar's world._

_Lockliar tells Jason he is Lockliar, but never who he was. He tells himself it is because the only Jason who ever really knew his name was gone._

_He tries not to think about the real reason._

 

Jason being adopted by the Batman was an interesting turn of events that quickly turned heartbreaking when the boy first introduced Lockliar to his new legal guardian. For Jason, of course, he was introducing his brother - the one who had cared for and protected him for the last few years - to Bruce - the rich man who dressed up as a bat and fought crime every night.

For Lockliar, however, he was meeting Spasitel all over again.

Meeting the Spasitel of this world is like a sucker-punch to the gut. Not because he still wore familiar armour (if slightly darker and with a bat on his chest), or because he's so goddamn similar to the Bruce he remembers. It is because, when Lockliar sees his wings for the first time, they are decidedly not white.

They are the colour of coal, but smooth like glass, broad and powerful and incredibly strong. The feathers glint in the light, streaks and patterns of brilliant gold decorating the expanse of darkness.

They are absolutely, breathtakingly beautiful, and it hurts Lockliar because his Spasitel had been a broken man and this one, mostly whole, if a little bit chipped, was like a different person entirely even though he _wasn't_.

White wings were the mark of a murderer - someone who had loved deeply and truly... who had killed the one they loved so much.

This Bruce Wayne has not done so. He has not had that burden upon his shoulders, the terrible guilt that he had had to bear every day that Lockliar had known him.

He doesn't know if it's a good thing.

He cries, right there, right then. He puts a hand over his mouth and takes a step back, staring at Bruce's beautiful, _beautiful_ wings and wondering how a man worthy of such a gift deserved to lose it.

Wayne tilts his head, looking towards Jaso who, himself, looked slightly concerned.

"What's wrong?" Jason asks quietly, and Lockliar swallows the building laughter in his throat.

"It is strange to see you as a whole man, Spasitel," He said quietly, bowing his head. "It is good."

Bruce inclines his head slightly. "I understand you're from an alternate reality. You knew me."

Lockliar hesitated for a second, then tilted his head. "I knew Spasitel. He was... I suppose a friend of the family. A good man, if a broken one."

Wayne nodded firmly. "My wings?" He knew. He knew the implications of Lockliar's behaviour.Lockliar knew he would.

"... Spasitel only ever killed one person, Mr. Wayne."

 

_Lockliar is real to these people. He is himself, an entirely different entity, and nobody knows him to be anybody else._

_He is not a soldier. He is Jason's protector, the shield against a world that he hopes will never come to exist. He wears his mask, even when he doesn't bother with the paint, only pulls it off to make faces at his new little brother._

_He is Lockliar._

 

The first time Lockliar met Dick Grayson was not really a proud moment. He'd been in Wayne manor for a matter of... what, two weeks? Without seeing any sign of any of Wayne's legacies.

But lo and behold, there was a boy, sitting at the kitchen table at four in the morning and giving him a look of confusion as he sipped at his coffee (and the kid was, like, fourteen, he should be drinking juice).

Now, what followed was entirely not his fault. Lockliar was not a morning person. He was nineteen, exhausted, pissed off, and he grew up in a place where anyone lurking in your home at four in the morning was probably there to murder you. Jason had woken him up because he wanted Lockliar to make him a hot chocolate, and while Lockliar usually had no problem with that, it was four in the morning.

(Jason used to be so wary of Lockliar. He'd hesitate to ask where the bathroom was. Lockliar almost regretted that Jason had become a self-assured _ass_ , but damned if he didn't love the little shit.)

Unfortunately, _four in the morning_ is exactly not when Lockliar wants to do anything.

So he grabbed the closest thing to him and hurled it at the stranger that his tired mind didn't actually recognise.

Good news: his aim was still great.

More good news: Jason is well-versed enough in Lockliar's more ridiculously not-well-thought-out plans that he just went along with it.

Now... less good news. The closest thing to him was Jason, who had automatically pulled his battle wings the moment Lockliar had stopped in the doorway.

Bad news: his aim was still great.

So the entire shitshow that followed was probably a little bit his fault. Jason yelped, but he understood that Lockliar was spontaneous, so he got over it quickly enough to prepare for impact and to flip back to his feet. The stranger had placed his coffee mug carefully on a coaster (Alfred would be proud) and managed to get his arms up in time not to have his face broken by the bulk of Jason's wings.

The two of them got to their feet simultaneously, but by that point, Lockliar's brain had woken up enough that he could make out the beautiful blue wings on the kid's back, and he held up his hands.

Unfortunately, his mouth was not yet at the level of acceptable filtering, so what came out was not the 'Woah, there, hold up, sorry, it was a knee-jerk reaction' and more...

"Fucking _fuck_!"

Later, after Lockliar has had at least three cups of coffee, including the one that 'Dick' had been about to drink, he has some regrets. He's flopped his right wing over Jason's head again (he held his left tight against his back, because damn, axe-kicks to the wings were really very  painful), and the younger boy seems rather content with his hot chocolate and the fact that he got a good few hits in on his predecessor... Despite the dark bruise along his cheekbone.

Lockliar smiled and poked the boy on the arm.

Dick sauntered back into the room after being pulled aside by Bruce for a (long, that was a little bit... daunting) talk apart from Jason and Lockliar. Lockliar knew that Bruce had told him of who exactly Lockliar was, who both of them were, but the younger boy only gave Lockliar a sheepish smile and extended his hand.

"Sorry," He said, and indeed, he looked ashamed of himself. "About your wing."

Lockliar waved it off, though at the mention of it, his wing twinged in pain. Asshole limbs.

"No, it was a good move," he replied. "Izvineniya za suki. I should practise close combat more often anyway."

"... Sorry," Dick mumbled, hunching in a little bit. "I don't speak..."

"Russian," Jason supplied helpfully from Lockliar's side. "It's Russian. Apologising is for bi-"

Lockliar silenced him by thrusting the fluffy feathers on the underside of his wing into Jason's face.

"No swearing, Jason," he said, smiling softly. "Swearing is for _bitches_."

"You just swore!" Dick said, the sole supplier of very obvious things.

"I did no such thing."

Lockliar was... nineteen now, he thinks. Nineteen, and for now, he's alright, because Dick Grayson is light-hearted and the first time Lockliar sees his smile, he decides that he's going to make sure at least one version of Mary's son turns out okay.

 

_It's Bruce Wayne who brings it up, over dinner of all times._

_He asks Lockliar what his actual name is, and Lockliar can't remember._

_It's quiet for a full minute, and Lockliar realises that he's become more Palach's son than Mary's._

_He doesn't cry, though. Lockliar is a soldier, an assassin, a sniper. He doesn't cry._

_Some small part of him, though, does scream - it screams and lashes out and begs for forgiveness from a light long faded out, because he never even noticed that Mary's son was gone._  



	2. Niko Grayson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It isn't just the world that is different.  
> It is the people. It is the feeling.  
> It's himself.

Lockliar wasn't sure what his plans were after Jason took on the Robin mantle. 

He wasn't actually sure that he had any plans at all, if he was perfectly honest. Sure, he knew that he'd probably take on some sort of active role against criminals (because seriously, they were like stains on an oil painting)... But beyond that?

He was Lockliar, that he knew - but here, that meant nothing. He went by the name of a good friend who didn't exist here (Niko, whose parents both died before he could even be conceived) because apparently it's unhealthy for everything he is to be an assassin. 

He had no life, no connections, no property except a prototype weapon he'd been building with Jason with bits and pieces of wayward machinery.

He couldn't just start fighting in Batman's city, not how he was now.

Most of all, he couldn't kill people. Bruce and Dick had been drilling that into his head since day one, telling him over and over that there were other ways to deal with bad guys than just killing that.

Lockliar ( _ Niko, fucking hell _ ) understood that. He really did. He knew very well that there were possibilities that would leave the bastards alive and incapacitated. He could shoot for the knees or hands or shoulders, and they'd be right the fuck out of commission.

But he couldn't do that either. Because bullets were apparently a very quick way to killing.

It made sense, he guessed. This world wasn't his own, and it was going to have very different rules. But damned if he knew what to do now..

He was suffering from a lack of... direction. He had no idea what he was supposed to do now, no idea how he would move on, or how to really deal with this situation. He was a sniper, goddammit. His skills were shooting, killing, and going home afterwards. The past couple of years, he'd been limiting his targets, hadn't shot a single human being because Jason had looked so scared when he'd brought that up.

Dammit, Lockliar had nothing to do.

Until, that is, Dick Grayson (Nightwing now, which Lockliar only thought was cool after, like, two months) introduced Lockliar ( _ Niko _ ) and Jason to the  _ team _ .

"Everybody!" Nightwing announced loudly, striding through the teleporter even as Lo-Niko leaned heavily against a railing and tried not to puke. Zeta tubes were, in Jason's words, the highways from hell. "We have guests!"

Almost immediately, there was a boy in bright yellow right in front of Nightwing. Niko almost groaned, because Wallace West was a familiar face no matter how much he covered his eyebrows. He considered pulling his wings out to steady himself when he stood up straight, but apparently Dick - Nightwing, now, what the fuck is this world - sensed his intentions, because he shot Lockliar a really dirty look.

"Who's this, 'Wing?" Wallace asked quickly, tilting his head and peering at Niko, who was still fighting off the nausea that came from the hell-highway. "Finally making friends outside of work?"

Nightwing scoffed, and Niko didn't need to see him to know he was rolling his eyes - he knew because he did the same thing. Jason snorted, looking far too put-together for Niko's taste. He resolved to drop him into a lake or something.

"KF," Nightwing said, gesturing grandly towards Niko and Jason. "These are my brothers. Robin, Lockliar, this is Kid Flash."

Ah, yes. That particular cover story was about as believable as they could get, considering that Niko looked almost like an older version of Nightwing. It seemed that, despite the different fathers, Richard Grayson took largely after his mother in both universes. Niko knew that he was built to be taller and more broad at the shoulders than Nightwing, but Nightwing was by far the stronger one of the two, despite being a full four years younger.

Also, Niko had seen the ridiculous flexibility that his counterpart boasted. He'd be able to do that back-bend... But only  _ exactly _ once.

Kid Flash knew full well who Niko actually was, but only because he half-lived at Wayne Manor now that Grayson had returned there. Fortunately, he was the only one. Niko didn't really want to explain the alternate-reality thing. He'd already had to give that talk to Jason, Dick, Bruce and Alfred, and then pointedly deflect all the questions from the Justice League.

"Brother?" West had that look in his eyes that made Lockliar want to hit him. "I didn't know you had a brother. Let alone two."

Niko groaned. "'Wing," he said, earning his 'brother's' attention. "You couldn't wait for five seconds?"

"No," Nightwing said flippantly. "You should be used to Zeta-tubes."

"Why? Why the hell would I be used to teleportation, Nightwing?"

"You've teleported before. Robin's never teleported before, and he's fine."

"I think the circumstances were slightly different!"

"You should be able to adjust, you'll be fine."

"I'll show you  _ fine _ when we get home, you peanut."

"Come on, I'm not even that much shorter than you."

"You're like... twelve."

West looked far too amused by the conversation, but Niko wasn't allowed to deck him because he wasn't supposed to have met him yet. Decking strangers was, apparently, largely frowned upon.

"Nightwing!" A redheaded... green, girl floated through the door what West had presumably come from. "How are you?"

"M'gann!" Nightwing smiled, letting the green girl hug him. "I'd like you to meet my brothers."

"Maybe hold off on the introductions until everyone's here," Jason said suddenly, interrupting Dick. "If I hear the word Lockliar too many more times, I may cry."

Ah, yes. They tried not to call him Lockliar too much. It was odd, he was still getting used to having a not-codename again.

(He couldn't go back to being Dick, for a... multitude of reasons)

"I can make you cry for different reasons, brat." Niko deadpanned. Jason scowled at him.

Niko looked around at the rest of the group who had wandered in. They were definitely judging the newcomers, and Niko knew that he was the only one of the two getting suspicious looks.

His sniper uniform, which was mostly carbon-fibre body armour, was similar to Nightwing's only to an extent. Batman had altered it so that it was more grey than black, but most of the design remained the same. He really liked the gloves and boots - Nightwing had had them made specifically for himself, but they fit Niko just fine. 

He'd refused to get rid of the red sash around his hips, but he'd allowed it to be replaced with a different material. You know, in case he got shot and started to bleed to death.

All in all, dressing in dark colours plus the red made him look sort of menacing, so they were a little on edge.

Of course, the fact that he still wore his sniper face-mask and white contacts couldn't help him look any less like an angry super villain.

But Niko was not wearing a domino mask. Domino masks were stupid.

Nightwing sighed and gestured for Niko and Jason to step forward.

"Team," He said, "Meet Robin and Lockliar."

"Hey," Jason said, suddenly sort of shy. Niko tilted his head. 

The dark-haired boy who'd sauntered in behind the group was staring at him weirdly, and it was kind of unsettling to see Kryptonian eyes on someone he wasn't supposed to be shooting.

Dick said he was a clone. Niko supposed that was alright. He didn't think he was ready for a full-blood Kryptonian just yet.

"Hello," Niko offered, meeting the clone's eyes head on. He tilted his head. "Super... boy?"

The clone nodded stiffly, and Niko inclined his head. 

"Lockliar..." Blonde-girl frowned slightly. "Never heard of you..."

Niko nodded. "You wouldn't."

She narrowed her eyes. "Why?"

Niko very nearly told her flat-out that he's existed as a genuine vigilante in this world for all of an hour and a half, but he catches the slight tensing of Jason's shoulders, so he doesn't. He just smiles at her with his eyes in a way that he knows from experience will make her want to punch him. 

"I'm very sneaky. My name's Lockliar, not... Lock... truther."

She looks slightly surprised, but then she smiles and steps forward, offering her hand. "Artemis."

"... Locktruther."

Jason scoffed at his side, and Niko smiles slightly at his brother's amusement.

"Welcome," One of the others steps forward, fixing pale eyes on Jason. The Atlantean smiles softly. "Nightwing has spoken of you."

Jason raised an eyebrow at Nightwing. "Truly, it's an honour."

Nightwing folded his arms again. "Brat."

 

_ He's caught between his duty and his aching heart. _

_ Lockliar wants to throw himself into this new purpose, but Dick... Niko wants to find himself again. _

_ He's lost in a maze, the walls made up of all the bullets he's ever fired, decorated with the names of people he'll never see again.  _

_ Lockliar remembers every single shot, every order, every mission, successful or failed. Niko, though, he's starting to remember the odd smile that crossed Ledger's face, Tern's dry remarks and Syx's concerned fretting whenever he left for a job. _

_ Lockliar doesn't care, but Niko does, and he doesn't know which is the right one, anymore. _

 

When Niko finally finished his weapon, he'd spent the entire week following locked up in the shooting range, growing familiar with the new rifle. 

He'd always opted for a slightly longer barrel and heavier metal than his mother (JR-117's were made as light as possible, which was extremely handy in running, but not so in close combat), but the mechanisms and design were almost identical. He hadn't been able to really outfit it the way he was used to, but the new rifle was sleeker, and just as beautiful as his -294.

... To be honest, the fact that Bruce had gone to such lengths to take away from the lethality of the weapon was comforting.

When Bruce brought up his original design ("I'm against guns, Niko... But you're very skilled, and I'm willing to compromise.") for the new rifle, Niko had almost immediately vetoed it. It was far too similar to the older JR-models - the -006 and -012 specifically, no matter how much more advanced. Any model, Palach had said, that came before the -090 was practically primitive.

After having to spend an entire week with an -076, Niko had definitely agreed.

So he'd reworked the design completely, and then it had been Bruce who had vetoed, because both the -117 and the -294 were designed for killing, and there was no compromising with it.

He'd argued back and forth about his weapon with Bruce for days, which had seemed to both reassure and irk the man to no end. Bruce took his design, then changed it completely, until Niko could only compare it to a training rifle. Niko took that design, burned it mentally, and allowed Bruce a bit of leeway by adjusting a couple of parts to match different kinds of JR models.

By the end, Niko was sure that he'd never be able to survive in his own world with his new rifle.

But damned if he didn't love it now.

It was beautiful - sleeker than his -294, but a little more bulky than Palach's -117. It was heavier than his old rifle, which was good, because he could use it in close-combat, and Bruce had added a neat little switch somewhere that electrified the metal barrel.

He loved it.

(Jason called it the Terminator. Dick did too, the shit.)

He walked around with his new gun as much as he could - he got used to the feel of it, the weight between his shoulders and bound wings, and learned very quickly that Nightwing's idea of having it able to fold up into a heavy stick was very smart, because nobody else had guns.

The team knew it was a gun, of course, but he was pretty sure that only seeing a fancy stick was enough to placate them.

The first one who really got a good look at his weapon was Artemis.

"You use guns?" She'd asked sharply, giving him a judgemental look. It rubbed Niko in exactly the wrong way, and he scowled defensively.

"I do believe that Nightwing explained the sniper thing while I wasn't there to witness your discomfort," Niko replied stiffly. He wasn't an idiot - he knew that Dick had briefed the team while he was getting to know his rifle, and he knew that it put every last one of them on guard. The only people they knew who used guns were, after all, villains.

Which Niko was not, and while the team had had time to get used to having an actual sniper along with them, they were still on-guard. They'd each been taught, either by their mentors or by experience, that anyone who used a gun was probably a little bit off in the head.

Not incorrect. But also not entirely true.

Artemis made a sound of stiff agreement. She seemed least open to the idea of Niko's existence out of everyone on the team, despite using a bow and arrow herself. She was an odd one, the archer, and as she strung up her bow and took the booth beside Niko, he looked over her.

There was something distinctly... predatory, about her. She was obviously well-practised with her weapon, but there was a strange feeling as she held her bow and arrow that screamed something very much not-heroic. It was oddly contradictory.

She looked like a killer with how she stood, but aimed for only incapacitation. 

She stood like an assassin, but never took lives.

It was strange, to meet a long-range fighter who didn't shoot to kill. He hadn't really met anyone like her in this world - Green Arrow had had talked to, but only briefly. He'd never seen him shoot.

He was watching Artemis shoot, right now, and by god it was something else, because he could see clearly that she was trained to kill, but chose instead the... 

Hero path. 

Arrow would have goddamn loved her.

"You're very profficient with your weapon, Artemis," He says, as another one of his dud bullets bounces off the middle of a bullseye. "I've met professionals with a weaker stance."

Artemis glances at him, seemingly surprised by the compliment. He fires again, and she smiles.

"You're not so bad yourself, Lockliar."

Niko blinks at the compliment, because for some reason, receiving praise by this girl is so different to receiving it from his brothers, his team.

They're silent for a few more minutes, each focused on their targets, before Niko scowled and adjusted his grip slightly. 

"Why do you fire with your middle finger?" Artemis asked suddenly, and Niko gave her a surprised look. "Seems uncomfortable."

Niko cleared his throat. "I, uh... It's a habit. I... Picked it up from my..." Mother. "Mentor, of sorts. I have three different projectiles - bullets, then tazers, and explosives."

"A bit of a weird habit." Artemis tilts her head slightly, and Niko shrugs.

"Harder to misfire when you know what you're doing."

Artemis nodded silently, and Niko felt disappointment bubbling in his chest.

"Tell you what," He finds himself saying before he can stop himself, unwilling to lose the tentative connection he'd somehow forged with this girl, "If you can hit dead centre, ten for ten, I'm... Willing to share some... tactics?" It comes out as a question, and he's honestly a little miffed that it's so hard to talk to her. He's never had this problem before.

Artemis gives him a surprised and slightly guarded look, and Niko wonders if he said something wrong.

"What makes you think I need to know your tactics, Lockliar?"

Niko sighed. " _ Chert Poberi _ ," he mutters, running a hand through his hair and fixing his eyes on her. "I just... I can't teach these things to Nightwing or Robin, you know? And I don't want to be the only one on the team who understands where the best place is to put a sniper."

Artemis looks surprised for all of two seconds, then smirks, readying her bow.

"Alright," She says, slowly, turning her head to scrutinise him, like she was sizing him up. "Let's add to that."

"Oh?" He raises an eyebrow. She rolls her eyes, but turns fully towards him.

"If you can put a bullet exactly where my arrows hit, ten for ten, I'll teach you how to make an EMP... And how to use the training simulator."

Niko grinned. He's been meaning to make an EMP for ages, because he knows this world relies heavily on technology, but he never could figure it out. He didn't have those kinds of resources back home, and he didn't really need them (nobody had the kind of technology worth putting out of commission anyway).

"Done."

 

_ Spectre had learned the hard way that a lone sniper was too easy to kill. Having not backup was practically a death wish, a condemnation. The only solo snipers were the veterans and the ones who took suicide missions. _

_ Lockliar was good, but he wasn't the best. He was never alone, always with at least one other sniper somewhere within ten meters of his position. He survived because he had backup. _

_ It was good to have backup again. _

 

Niko didn't even realise that Dick and Jason were teaming up with his new friend to get him to interact more until he found himself sitting on the couch for a movie night, stuck between a scowling Conner and Dick. Jason was perched on his lap, grinning like he'd won a fucking war, because Jason was a little shite and an awful person.

"Titanic!" Artemis was shouting, head-to-head with Wally West. "We're watching Titanic!"

"Pacific Rim is a timeless treasure!" Wally argued vehemently. "It's way more exciting than your sappy romance movie!"

"Titanic is a masterpiece!"

"Pacific Rim is a gift to this world!"

"M'gann hasn't seen Titanic yet!"

"Conner and Kaldur haven't seen Pacific Rim!"

"Actually," Jason said suddenly, smiling innocently at Dick, who smiled right back. Niko was instantly on alert. "Lockliar's never seen a movie before."

There was silence. Niko was suddenly being stared at by a bunch of dumbstruck teenagers, very uncomfortable at being watched byt he whole room. He considered getting up, but Dick hooked an arm around his neck, because Dick is more than just his name.

Artemis and Wally exchanged an intense look, then threw their respective movie choices unceremoniously over their shoulders.

The Lion King brought him damn close to tears.

 

_ Spectre was blood and fire and killing and the endless sound of his rifle firing shot after lethal shot. It was the weight of bullets in every pocket, the hard-earned resistance to the nausea that rose in his throat when he remembered that he'd killed more people than Spasitel ever had. Spectre meant coming home to a home where the only one waiting for him was Syx, but they were never alone. _

_ Spectre was where he belonged in a war-torn world. It was the salvation he was granted from the apocalypse. Spectre was respect and acceptance, exchanging casual conversation and never, ever bringing up the job. _

_ Everyone had killed someone. The baker down the street was an ex-spy with a hole in his belly. The butcher was an assassin and the builders were all freshly relieved of active duty. _

_ Everyone knew everyone, and everyone knew who they'd trust to have their back.  _

_ Spectre was growing more and more detached from all the others, raising himself on a platform as he built up a legend of his own. It was Ledger and Tern on the field, trusting him implicitly to save them. It was vengeance with every green bullet he fired, distancing himself from the terrible possibility that, one day, he could be the one who needed to die. _

_ It was surviving anyway, because he had a place, and he knew it. _

_ Spectre was flaws and pain and suffering every single day, but to Lockliar, it was home. _

 

"Ready for the plan? We're going to drop water balloons on KF's head and then escape through the vents."

"That sounds absolutely delightful."

"I should have figured you'd be a coffee person, seriously. Please stop, you're scaring me. What are you even doing?"

"Particle physics."

"Why did you throw him down the stairs?"

"Kiss my ass."

"Quick, what's the opposite of awesome?"

"It's you, bin chicken."

 

_ Young Justice was light and life and the presence of hope that could never be lost. It was softer, too soft for his liking, but he could see the potential for iron will, for warriors who would never truly be defeated. _

_ It was still his rifle, firing shot after shot, but there was no death. It was still blood, still long nights spent awake, listening for anyone who meant harm. It was still a battle, a war in its own way. _

_ But it was camaraderie in a way that Spectre never was. It was the odd pat on the shoulder, the lessening shock whenever Wally sped past or M'gann casually levitated him to reach some random bit or piece. It was laughter and fighting for more than just survival, teasing and joy and taking success as something to celebrate rather than putting it down like a tally mark on the wall. _

_ Young Justice was teaching and being taught - perching in the rafters and lounging on the couch and listening to Dick and Wally talk about science. It was discovering a sense of humour and finding a love for terrible puns and pizza at midnight because pizza was forever. _

_ Young Justice was still flaws, still pain and struggling to find the sense of self that he had lost, but to Niko, it was home. _

 

Humanity, Niko decided, was a strange thing.

It was beautiful.


	3. Meaning of a Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rise of a hero.

Niko hated sunsets more than anything else.

More than waking up before dawn every morning out of some still-lingering sense of duty to his patrol, to his home. More than the full moon, which was too bright at midnight, when he couldn't hide, couldn't crouch in the shadows where he had so long survived.

More, even, than the pain of losing everything he'd ever known.

It wasn't because it meant the end of the day and the beginning of the colder, harsher night. It wasn't because of the ever-present paranoia that always set in and lasted for hours when he could no longer see as far as he needed to.

It was because the sunsets in this place were exactly as they had been back home.

The same colours bled across the sky - orange like the colour of burning metal when you needed the heat, pink like the colour of the odd little weed flowers that used to crop up where they so pleased.

Red like passion, like pain, like the liquid of life leaking out of a fresh new chasm in your chest.

He hated the spectacular display of colour and life and passion. He hated that everyone else admired it so much, like it didn't symbolise how similar his bloody, brutal world was to this comparative paradise.

Niko knew those colours, that sky - he knew it from a home that had fallen to ruin. It wasn't beautiful to him - it was the desperate battle of the sun as it was dragged away as though there was simply no place for the light. It was, to him, the dying throes of the days, the last blaze of glory before the shadows set in.

It reminded him too much of silent days back at the base - days where nobody dared speak a word lest the ghosts of the dead still be listening, where to walk with quiet footsteps was enough for everyone to know where you were. It reminded him of a dozen, two dozen, three dozen tarps, laid over suspiciously people-shaped  _ somethings _ \- the day ended, and so they ended.

The going down of the sun, of this world, was too much like it was back home. It was too close, too real, and for a moment, he'd always think that he was back at Spectre base, waiting for his next mission, with his rifle in his hands. 

"Lockliar?"

He startled slightly, turned to look at Wally. His wings jolted and rose slightly behind him, defensive. The tips of them glinted faintly, the only indication of his battle feathers (Thank the lord for black wings). 

Wally raised his hands, and Niko was slightly surprised that he was almost squinting to see the boy through the darkness. The sky had been fully dark for an hour and a half. 

Niko had no idea what he was doing.

"Yes, Boy Spark?" He replied quietly. Wally scowled.His wings, behind him, fluttered nervously. Wally had pretty wings, Niko could admit to that. They were chestnut brown and flecked with ruby red. They were narrow and light, built for speed instead of strength, but not quite as suited for agility as for flat-out, high-speed flight.

They were pretty. Niko had never seen a bird with wings like Wally's.

It was no wonder Dick liked them (of course, Dick would deny it, but Niko was all-knowing.)

"It's Kid Flash," He corrected, folding his arms defensively and narrowing his eyes at Niko. "What are you doing here?"

"On... On the roof?" Niko spent a great deal of his time outside. He didn't like being inside. 

It was easier to get ambushed inside.

"On top of my house." Ah, yes. That. There was a reason for that. Niko mentally pulled back on his wings, felt the metallic feathers turn soft once more as he folded them neatly behind him.

"I am... Contemplating." Truth.

"Do you have to do it on top of my house? How do you even know where I live, Lockliar?"

_ I'm a spy. I know how to find information. I know how to do that, and I needed to know where you lived because I needed to talk to you because I don't know if I want to talk to someone else about this- _

"It's just us, Wally," He says instead. He settled down on the edge of the roof, let his wings stretch out behind. "Please don't call me that."

Wally went quiet for a moment, then settled down on the edge of the roof next to Niko with a huff.

"You know," Wally said, "You're different from our Dick in a lot of ways. He's an acrobat... You're not. You're a sniper. He's definitely not. You could probably fly really fast if you wanted to, he'd be more likely to wind you through a maze or something. But you have the exact same expressions, and it high key gives away when something's up. What happened?"

Niko glanced towards the redhead, frowning. 

"I... Saw something weird."

Wally smirked. Niko groaned internally. "What, scared?"

Niko scowled and made to get to his feet, raising his wings, ready to take off. "Never mind."

Wally made a sound of surprise, grabbing on to Niko's wrist and pulling him to sit back down. "Woah, hey, what happened?"

Niko narrowed his eyes at Wally, then huffed and folded his arms, considering the chances of slipping off the roof fast enough that the other wouldn't catch him. He decided fairly quickly that that chance was very narrow, and just frowned deeper at Wally. "... You're just gonna laugh at me."

Wally had the decency to look slightly guilty. "I won't laugh at you!" He said earnestly, "I'm sorry, alright? It's just... I'm not sure how to act around you."

"You... Act around me?" Niko rolled his eyes. "Come off it."

"I'm serious!" Wally flailed his arms around. "You're so similar to Dick, but you're so different, and it's weird because it's like I know you but I don't. It's weird. I don't know what to do."

Niko rolled his eyes with a sigh. "You'll figure it out. You're a genius, right? Just... Stop trying to sneak up on me."

Wally grimaced. "Sorry. Paranoid?"

"Extremely."

They went quiet for a moment, Niko staring out at the sky once more and Wally fiddling with his hands. Then, Wally lifted his head and fixed bright green eyes on Niko's face.

"So what... What's got you all up in knots?"

Niko sighed. "A kid."

Wally seemed startled by that response. "You... You saw a child?" He tilted his head, looking extremely confused. "What, have you never seen a kid before?"

"I've never seen a child who willingly wears my symbol, Wally," Niko replied curtly His wings shivered, puffing out slightly in his frustration and confusion. Wally only gaped, so Niko climbed to his feet and started pacing lightly along the rooftop.

"It's the Executioner's symbol, Wally!" He tugged at his ear a little bit, ruffled his feathers. "And that kid was just... Just walking along, wearing it on his chest like he was wearing a medal! He was so happy, he just... He knew my name, Wally!" He turned around, his eyes wide. "He knew my name, and he said to his mother, 'Lockliar's my favourite hero!' A hero? I'm..." 

He trailed off, then groaned, settling in the middle of the roof and pulling his knees to a chest, wrapping his wings around himself.

"I've never heard something so ridiculous in my life," He grumbled quietly. He heard a rustling sound as Wally climbed to his feet, and then the sound of his footsteps as he approached.

"So they're selling Lockliar merchandise now, huh?" He listened to Wally settling down in front of him, heard the rustling of his feathers as he shifted his wings-

Then jerked away when Wally's fingers poked at the joint of his right wing.

"What the fuck-"

"At least that's still the same," Wally grinned, his eyes glinting. He sobered quickly, tilting his head at the older man. "What are you, twenty?"

"Something like that," Niko replied dully. Wally nodded.

"And in all your many years of professional fighting," Wally continued slowly, "Have you seriously never... I don't know... Been thanked?"

Niko blinked. "Thanked...?"

Wally sighed. "Yeah. I mean, you save lives, right? Surely someone appreciates it?"

Niko made a small sound of realisation, then crossed his legs. "You're talking about... Hero worship?"

Wally made a face, but nodded nonetheless. "I guess. That's... Never happened to you before?"

Niko shook his head, his heart beating a little bit fast as he looked down at his hands. "I, uh... I was a sniper. Snipers were in Spectre. Spectre was... covert ops. Assassinations and spying and stuff. Nobody really... Liked us much. All the heroes were in Primer with Spasitel."

Wally frowned. "I kinda figured you... You know, never had a big fan base. But... God, nobody? Not once?"

Niko frowned. "No, Wally. We were killers. As far as the rest of Seraph was concerned, we had no mercy. We couldn't afford it." He dragged his fingers through the dusty sheet that layered the roof - two fingers for the ring, and five fingers for the strikes.

The crude VIII resembled more claw-strikes than the number-lines they were, but it was clear nonetheless.

"Spectre Eight," He muttered dryly. "The good man's nightmare."

"... Explains a lot, actually."

"Excuse me?" Niko looked up and scowled, and Wally quickly backtracked.

"I mean," Wally held out his hands placatingly as Niko's primaries sharpened dangerously, "Just that you... don't really seem to know what to do with praise."

Niko scowled. "I've been praised."

"For anything other than a perfect shot?"

Niko's silence was answer enough, it seemed. Wally's wings sagged, his eyes sad.

"This world..." Wally took a deep breath. "To the people here, you're not just a sniper. Not just a soldier. Here, you're among those who stand up and fight in their own way to protect something worth fighting for. Justice, I guess, but you're... You don't fight for that. Not really. You fight for people. And I guess that they can tell."

Niko breathed in deeply, closing his eyes and resting his forehead on his knee. He didn't deserve that. He didn't deserve their praise.

He was a murderer, a killer. He had no means of redemption, nothing to show for his healing but his own word.

The symbol - the two circles and the jagged eight - was the mark of his past, the representation of what he was, what he was trying to leave behind so that he could fight as best he could in a world that was so  _ goddamn different from his own. _

But that little kid - a tiny little boy with big blue eyes and a beautiful smile - had worn the crest with pride. Red-on-black, just like Lockliar, except that the red did not represent blood and the black did not represent the endless darkness of the pit he had fallen into.

'My favourite hero!' the boy had crowed.

It made something warm burn in his chest, and it took him longer than it should have to realise that he was proud.

He felt like crying, but not because he was sad. He felt like screaming, but not because he was pained. He'd faced many enemies in his life... But this?

This felt like a greater victory than anything else.

He wants to say it out loud - wants to look Wally dead in the eyes and tell him that he's never going to let that boy down. He wants to tell Wally that he'd worked for many things, that he believed in many things, but he would drop all of it to fight for that boy, because to him, Lockliar meant something that he'd never even consider before.

He'd never considered that he could ever really be seen as a hero.

Of course, Niko doesn't say any of these things. He sighs, runs a hand through his hair, and changes the topic, because he's no Dick Grayson, and he doesn't know how to say what he wants.

"... It's a Cross-shot, by the way," He says quietly. That was safe. That was better.

"What?"

"Cross-shot." At Wally's confused look, Niko almost cried again.  _ Seriously?  _ "Right, that's not a thing here. It's like... It's what you said. A tough shot. Except it's damn near impossible. Out on..." Niko took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. He'd probably have to get used to talking. 

"Out on the battlefield, when the war was going on, uh... There was this... thing? Just, a sniper thing. Sometimes we had to hit a target and we'd be expected to do it because Palach set the bar really, really high. Like, she could probably shoot anything, the crazy asshole... But she was a lot better than us. The commanders thought that her skills were the outline of everyone else's, so they'd just give us a target and go 'here, hit this'. And we'd just sit there for, like, ten minutes trying to figure out how to hit the target. We called them Cross-shots, and if you made it, you got bragging rights in the bunker and a free Shickle from Davo."

Wally made a slightly amused sound. "I'm gonna pretend I understood that last part."

"Shickles are drinks, Wally."

Wally looked slightly alarmed, which was actually quite funny. Niko would laugh if he didn't look so personally offended. 

"You were, like fifteen when you showed up!" Wally was waving his arms around again, and he accidentally elbowed himself in the wing. "Why were you drinking? You're a terrible role model for the little kid!"

Niko laughed softly. He probably would have decked Wally if he wasn't used to the weird, lighthearted and vaguely insulting humour here. "Wally, how many Cross-shots do you think I ever made?"

Wally blinked. "Um... Lots?" 

Wally had no idea what he was saying, but Niko appreciated it nonetheless.

"I'm flattered that you think I could, but no. I've made two." Wally blinked, and Niko shrugged. "More than most can hit in their whole lives, but I told you - Cross-shots were nearly impossible targets. I only got those ones because  _ Palach  _ taught me. Cross-targets were really rare to come up anyway. I think I heard of five being tasked in my first year, and only, like, four of them have been hit."

"They gave you two out of five impossible shots?"

Niko gave Wally a flat look. "Did you miss the part where I told you Palach taught me? She was... A..." Niko thought for a second, then snapped his fingers, remembering a phrase that Jason had uttered once about Bruce. "Cultist soccer mom."

Wally burst out laughing, almost toppling backwards with the force of it. He wiped a tear from his eye. 

"I think you and your weird analogies are my new favourite thing."

Niko smiled, and absently flopped his wing over Wally's head.

 

_ Niko found out that the boy's name was Jack. _

_ He visited the kid late a night, and the little one was still awake. The way Jack's eyes had widened when he saw Lockliar perched outside his window was absolutely comical, and the awe on his face had made Niko vaguely uncomfortable. _

_ "Woah," The kid breathed, taking a small step towards the sniper. "Is that really you?" _

_ Niko gathered his courage... _

_ He winked. "Just thought I'd let you know: You're my hero too, kid." _

_ He dropped the small face-mask on the windowsill and disappeared. _

 

Niko's touch was hesitant as his fingers ghosted over Dick's wing. He pressed his fingertips into the feathers at the base of Dick's wing, scratching gently and eliciting a sigh of contentment from the slightly taller man. 

"Why do you like them so much?" Dick mumbled, turning his head and peering at Lockliar tiredly. He had a bruise on his jaw from a particularly nasty thug that he'd had to take down on patrol that night, and he'd employed Niko's help to get his wings back in order.

"Hm?" Lockliar hummed, tilting his head at Dick and narrowing his eyes ever so slightly. 

"I don't really get it," Dick continued quietly, leaning forward to place his forehead against the back of the chair. "You don't get like this with... With anyone else. Not even Jay. Why do you like my wings so much?"

Lockliar smiled slightly, leaning forward to press his nose against Dick's neck. It was an intimate gesture - in fact, they had once been accused of having a relationship a little bit closer than brothers should have. But Dick knows full-well that Lockliar has about as much sexual interest in him as he did appreciation for politics in this world (That is to say, none). 

"To be honest... I never considered that they’d look so different," Lockliar says honestly. He pulls away a little bit, running careful fingers along Dick's wingbone. "My wings are… slimmer. More like a sparrow. You’re like… A falcon. It’s so odd. I guess you have your dad’s wings, hey?"

"Yeah." Dick frowned a little. "Do you... know who your dad was?"

Lockliar nodded sagely, carding his fingers through Dick's fingers. "Yes. Mom killed him when the war really started, though, before I was born. Thank fuck, you know?"

"... What happened with that?"

Niko paused. "The war?, or mom's love life?"

"... Both."

"It was before I was born, so I'm not actually sure of the larger-scale events. From what I understand, half of humanity sided with the Kryptonians, who preached peace and prosperity. The other half sided with Spasitel. Spasitel was... He knew what these aliens were planning. They wanted to rule the Earth, and terraform it to better suit themselves. They didn't care about human casualties.

"Fortunately for us, I guess, there's only so many Kryptonians that really survived the destruction of their world. Unfortunately, though, half-Kryptonians usually had the same powers and sided with... you know, the Kryptonians. So we have a lot of... fighting and killing nearly-indestructible aliens."

"A war?"

"All over the world. The side I fought for was against the Kryptonians - we sided with Spasitel, and he founded Seraph. Seraph was a worldwide operation, every piece individually governed by a worthy leader, but all of them working together for the same cause. Jason's brother... Spasitel's son, we called him Iskatel, the Finder. He was the leader of Stygia division - they were intelligence. My uncle became Predatel, and he led Spectre division for years."

"And Bruce led Primer?"

"Bruce lead Primer. Spasitel, Predatel, and Iskatel's predecessor, Archer, were known as the 'Seraph Crowns'. They were the big targets, and our enemies were always trying to get them. It was the job of the Scythes to protect the leaders and take over should they be taken down."

"Scythes?"

"Mom was one of them, Dick. Red Ledger was shaping up to be Spasitel's Scythe, until he transferred to Spectre to be on my team - he and another little brother, who I'm not really sure exists here. Arrow’s the Scythe there now. I think Iskatel had Kestrel in place to take over in the event of his untimely demise, but I never know with that guy. Palach was supposed to take up after Predatel, but Predatel was compromised and mom was forced to... take him out. Spectre Crown was Spear for a while, and Palach remained the reserve. Palach died, Reserve was a guy called Strider, then he died and the Reserve was my uncle, Syx. I was going to start reaching for Scythe, I reckon, but I never got there... You know, because I got killed."

Dick flinched slightly at that, but turned his head slightly to give Niko a  _ look _ .

"You think you would have been..." Dick's question trailed off, but Niko knew what he was asking.

"Maybe," Niko sighed, taking a step away so he could walk around the chair and crouch on the ground in front of his younger counterpart. He didn't doubt that he looked strange, with his face bare but his contacts still in. Dick didn't seem to mind, though, just tilted his head at him. "But I don't think I'd ever want to be Spectre Crown. You'd be surprised how little action they really get."

"Don't like the paperwork?" Dick asked lightly, though he knew that he'd made the younger man uncomfortable with his mention of his... job? 

Niko shook his head, rocking back on his heels and steadying himself with his wings. "Paperwork is the worst."

There came the sound of a  _ bang _ , drifting down the stairs. Niko's head snapped towards the sound, and Dick sighed at the metallic sound his wings made as he dragged them against the floor. He relaxed a second later, cursing himself, and Jason bounded down the stairs with a broad grin.

"Guess what?!" The boy crowed, using his wings to propel him a little higher into the air as he leaped towards them. Dick only just managed to turn around before Jason barreled into him. Both boys and the chair toppled right over, and Niko found himself smirking at the shocking mess of feathers and flailing limbs that because of his little brothers.

"Jason," He said, amused. "What happened?"

Jason stopped struggling to extract himself from Dick (who was scowling, but his eyes glittered with amusement and affection, so Niko knew he wasn't really angry) and beamed up at Niko.

"I did the  _ thing _ !" He said excitedly, and when he moved next, he managed to scramble free from his older brother, and held out what was obviously one of the targets from the shooting range that Bruce had quietly installed in the depths of the cave. "I got a bullseye!"

Niko stared at the dot of colour in the centre of the target. Bruce had forbidden any use of lethal bullets within a mile of the cave, so Dick and Jason had put their heads together to make the nifty little paint-bullets. They weren't paintballs, not exactly - they could do some serious damage - but they were certainly not lethal...

You know, not as lethal as most of Bruce's weapons.

"That..." Niko exhaled softly, taking the target in his hands and peeking over it at Jason. "This was you?"

"Yes!"

"You did it?"

"Yes." Jason sounded a little bit unsure, a little bit crestfallen, and Niko rolled his eyes inwardly.

He beamed down at the boy, and Jason's whole face lit right back up.

" _ This is a beautiful shot, Jason. _ "

 

_ Niko remembered a late-night conversation. He and Dick and Jason, curled up on Dick's bed and watching some mindless film on the television. _

_ He remembered Dick's fingers carding absently through his feathers as he so often did for Dick. He remembered Jason staring at him as he nimbly worked out the kinks and bends in his feathers. _

_ He remembered his eyes drooping, lulled into some sort of peace under Dick's hands. _

_ "You know," He'd murmured, half-asleep, "I'm glad you're not like them." _

_ Dick had paused, and Jason shifted slightly where he was bundled up against Niko's side. "Not like... Your versions of us, Niko?" Jason had asked timidly, and Niko laughed. _

_ "My versions?" Niko opened his eyes and smiled. Jason's brows softened slightly, and he blinked at the look in the younger boy's eyes. _

You smile and it's like the stars are in your eyes. You're pretty, brother.

Maybe we should start calling you Bleeding Heart instead of Red Ledger?

_ Where was his Jason now? _

_ "You're my versions too, idiot," He said quietly, glancing back at Dick, who was watching him carefully. "You're my brothers, too." _

_ He didn't realise until later that Jason had nearly cried into his shirt as he drifted off, or that Dick had abandoned his wings in favour of curling on his other side. He did, however, groggily wrap his wings around them in the middle of the night, and woke up to Alfred taking a picture of them in the morning. _

 

Niko didn't really register a weakness to Kryptonite until he woke up from a nightmare on what would probably be his twenty-first birthday and his hands were  _ on fire _ .

"Fuck!" He yelled, rolling out of bed and curling around them. "Fuck, that  _ smarts _ !"

About five seconds later, Bruce was bursting through the door, kneeling by his side and prying his hands away from his body. Niko tried to fight him off, but settled for trying not to pass out again.

"What's happening?" Bruce ashed tersely. Niko just groaned and his hands spasmed.

"Fucking _ fuck _ !" Niko grimaced and Bruce focused intensely on his hands. "What the fuck?!"

Bruce's eyes sharpened. "Niko, you have kryptonite implants?"

Niko cried out again as another pulse of pain came from his hands. "Yes, Bruce, the fuck?!"

Bruce didn't reply. He scooped Niko up, ignoring his protests, and swished out of the room.

(Bruce doesn't need a cape to swish. Bruce can swish perfectly well without a cape.)

(Niko really needs painkillers,  _ fuck _ )

"Alfred!" Bruce hollered, bursting through what Niko vaguely registered as the entry to the cave. "Alfred, the scalpels!"

"Master Bruce?" Alfred appeared at his side like the sarcastic British phantom that he was, hurrying along with a box that he'd probably summoned from the phantom zone or something. "What happened?"

Bruce slowed down, laid Niko down on something cold and flat, and Niko immediately pressed the backs of his hands against the cool metal. It brought no relief - something in his hands  _ ground  _ and  _ sizzled _ , and he cried out again. 

"Kryptonite implants," Bruce said, stepping aside, "In his knuckles. We need to get them out."

Alfred nodded once in understanding, and Niko frowned at the mention of probably his biggest backup plan ever.

Every Spectre soldier was expected to have the kryptonite implanted carefully into their knuckles - a fallback, just in case you got the chance to fight for your goddamn life. They were linked carefully up to a bioelectric interface in the forearms, which meant that their properties could be activated upon silent command unless the signal was interrupted.

He'd never had a problem with them before. He hadn't used them in this world.

Why...

Why were they being a problem now?

Bruce was holding his arm in an iron grip, and Niko's awareness faded in and out. He could vaguely register the smell of burned flesh, the sizzling sound of his own skin as the stones did their best to tear him apart-

Relief. His right hand, thank fuck they'd started with his dominant hand, because he didn't know what he'd do if he couldn't use-

Relief. His left hand.

_ Fuck. _

There was a clatter and the familiar sound of the medical trolley’s wheels on the cave floor, and Niko lay shaking on the table.

"Niko?" Bruce's hand patted his cheek, and Niko squinted, trying to make out the man where he loomed above. "Niko, can you hear me?"

Niko made a choked sound and closed his eyes. "Why the fuck now?" He mumbled, trying to draw his hands to his chest. Bruce didn't let him, placed his own hands on Niko's forearms and gently urged him to bring them back to his side.

"Your father wasn't human, was he, Niko?" Bruce asked lowly. Niko shook his head, trying to sort through the haze that hung over his mind.

"Lot of good that did me," Niko mumbled tiredly. "Why now?"

Bruce was silent. Niko took a deep breath and passed out.

 

_ "I loved your father, Niko. I loved him very much. But he was a bad person, and I realised it too late." _

_ "Am I... Am I gonna be like him, Mom?" _

_ "No, kiddo. You're far more Cross than El." _

_ "... What does that even mean?" _

_ "It means that you can't lift buildings, Dick. It means you won't ever fly and you're weak to human and alien weapons. It means that you're gonna have to be stronger than I am, stronger than I ever was." _

_ "... I don't wanna be like them, Mom." _

_ "You won't. You're my boy. And if it's the last goddamn thing I do, I'm going to make sure you're as strong as you need to be." _

_ "Because you're Palach?" _

_ "Because I'm your mom." _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was hinting towards this thing previously - yes, alternate-universe-Dick is half-Kryptonian, but he was way more Mary's son than Sor-El's. He's just a guy.  
> No, Niko has no Kryptonian powers. He will not be a Marty Stu.   
> Thanks to everyone who left kudos. Updates will be sporadic from this point on and, really, they're gonna happen when they happen. I'm a college student. Life sucks.  
> Please comment and let me know what you think of the story so far.


	4. Oddity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red Ledger and how the war goes when he loses his big brother.

Red Ledger's first thought upon returning to Spectre Base was that it was the wrong kind of quiet.

He'd had spent many days at the base where nobody had spoken a single word - people were used to not talking much around here, and a lot of the time, the only sound on base was that of boots on the floors, doors opening and closing, and the wind outside. It was Spectre-quiet - it was ghosts and whispers of sound so quiet they could be drowned out by your own heartbeat, no sound out of place.

There wasn't Spectre-quiet.

Doors hung ajar, their handles broken, creaking too-loud as the draft pulled and pushed at them. Walls were cracked and scorched and bullet shells lined the ground like the beginnings of a metal carpet. The lights were dead, the exit signs flickering, and the people before him were completely still, staring at Ledger and Tern with something far too close to pity in their eyes.

And these people, they weren't Spectre. Their footsteps were too loud, their movements too timid. They looked into his eyes and then glanced away. They walked  _ wrongwrongwrong _ and it was so obvious that they didn't belong.

Ledger moved forward slowly, felt their eyes follow him as he started down the destroyed hallway. 

"What happened?" He heard Tern ask stiffly. A woman sighed.

"They found the base," She said, her voice cracking. "We've been here for two hours. There's nobody else here."

Ledger ignored them, sped up. He glanced left and right, taking in everything he could just like Spasitel had taught him to do.

A dent in the wall big enough that nothing short of an entire person must have collided with it. Singed feathers on the ground and long black streaks along the rocky walls - flamethrowers? Why the heck did they have flamethrowers?

He came to another door, opened it, and his heart skipped a beat because the  _ entire goddamn base was in ruins _ .

The buildings were all but destroyed, debris littering the street. There were burns and smears of red and there was a  _ kryptonite bullet _ lodged into the earth at his feet.

He barely registered the movement of his little brother until he was dashing down the street, dodging and leaping through the rubble without a care. He didn't call out to him, just followed, his boots thumping  _ too loud _ on the hard-packed ground.

The layout of Spectre base was simple. The streets varied from narrow to wide. The official operations took place in the compound, down the stairs and deep underground, but the dwellings had become more of a sprawl with a pattern that only Spectre understood.

Narrow streets were harder to attack from, easier to defend, but also harder to escape down. Wider streets were better for escaping, but they were so easy to fill with enemies. Snipers lived where they could get to the roof at a moment's notice, close-combat assassins always had weaker walls so they could get outside faster without having to worry about the door.

Spasitel had asked a few times why the layout was so erratic, and Ledger had shrugged and walked away.

The Kryptonians... They must have just bulldozed through the base. A wave of destruction that was too fast to stop... But apparently not fast enough to face no resistance.

Because there were signs of fighting. The synthetic Kryptonite-dust was blackened and burned out, so someone must have activated it. There were empty casings of normal and green bullets alike, humans in gear that was definitely not Seraph-standard left to rot among the rubble.

There was no way, Ledger knew, that they had left the bodies of their  _ fellow aliens _ behind.

It looked like the Kryptonians had ripped through the compound and spilled out into the streets... Only to be faced with Spectre, warned just enough that they were ready to fight. The only bodies in the first twenty meters were the humans who'd sided with the goddamn aliens.

Then something stood out at the corner of his eye, and he forced himself to move faster because there was a  _ familiar body, slumped against the side of a building and her wings were broken and there was blood on the wall and ohmygodLyriswasdeaddeadead _ -

He scowled, freed his wings where they'd been tucked away, and took off.

More bodies. More people, prone on the ground. Tern was calling out, and Ledger didn't even care that the Kryptonians would hear him because he was shouting too.

"Lockliar!" He bellowed, stumbling slightly as he turned into a different sector. "Lockliar! Syx!"

He searched for them - for the beautiful golden colour of Syx's wings, for the red sash that Lockliar always tied around his waist when he was fighting, for anything that hinted at survivors because if anybody had survived, then it was them-

Sunny, Moira, Jack, John, Monique, Sarah, Kelly, Lionel-

What about the rest? He thought. This base was two-thousand strong, what happened, where were they?

He though, absently, that they could have been captured, but this was a  _ goddamn massacre, they weren't here to take, they were here to destroy _ .

He landed on the roof (there was a hole in it because Ledger had accidentally shot through it like a goddamn idiot) and searched desperately for...

For anything. For a sign, for hope, for any chance that Lockliar could be alright even though there was nobody there, nobody breathing, the fight was over and the job was done-

Lockliar's rifle, broken clean in half and loaded with a green-striped cartridge and surrounded by bodies and blood and-

Ledger fell to his knees, threw back his head, and  _ howled _ .

 

_ "Who did this to you?" The older boy asks, carefully cleaning the blood from Ledger's wing. _

_ "Just happened on the field, Lock," Ledger muttered, turning his head away. "It's nothing." _

_ Lockliar's hand tightened minutely on Ledger's wingbone. _

_ "Was it that guy with the green hair?" _

_ Ledger didn't answer. Lockliar ducked his head. _

_ "If I see him again," He said, his voice far too calm, far too cold, "I'm going to shoot him in the neck." _

 

"Spectre Base has fallen," Iskatel's voice through the comms was distorted just enough that his childish voice was indistinguishable to anyone but Spasitel's... family. "There's no sign of any new prisoners. The Kryptonians are celebrating."

Spasitel frowned, folding his arms. He glanced towards Ledger. "You said there were missing bodies?"

Ledger nodded. "The body count was definitely low," He said. "There was no way all of Spectre was there."

There was silence for a second, until Kestrel spoke up, sounding timid even through the voice-changer. 

"I hate to be the one to bring this up," He said slowly, "But the last time Primer raided a base, you came across what looked like blueprints for a particle disruptor. It's possible that weaponising that kind of technology resulted in..."

"Ceasing," Spasitel finished flatly, staring at the table. His hands were clenched into fists. Kestrel cleared his throat. 

Tern spoke up beside Ledger, leathery wings tensing up visibly. "There was no way they could have escaped," He said, voice emotionless and face blank. "The Kryptonians didn't attack and kill half of Spectre just so that we could reform it and come back stronger. If anyone had managed to get away from the slaughter, they would have been chased down."

"Much as I hate to say it," Ledger said, glancing down at the other boy. "Tern's got a point."

One of the other Generals sighed. "So we've lost an entire third of Seraph, then."

It was no question. It was a statement, a fact that weighed heavily on Ledger's shoulders.

"We need to compensate, fast."

Ledger's head snapped up, staring at the device that Iskatel's voice was coming from. 

"Spectre's down, and the Kryptonians are undoubtedly preparing for a second assault," He continued. There was the sound of something shuffling, and Ledger imagined him leaning forward, bringing his wings up into that tense arch that he so often adopted to make himself seen bigger. "They went for Spectre first, and I'm absolutely certain that they're going to come for Stygia next."

"Primer will mobilise immediately," Spasitel replied curtly, drawing himself to his feet. His wings, broad and powerful and gleaming too-sharp behind him, spread out just a little. He was surrounded in a shroud of marble feathers, like some sort of hell-halo, and Ledger was reminded once more exactly why they called him the saviour.

"This meeting is over."

 

_ Ledger doesn't have time to mourn the loss of his closest friend - his brother. He and Tern are two of twenty-six Spectre soldiers remaining alive, and because of that, they're suddenly far too busy to have time for tears. _

_ Lockliar, Syx and Spear were all dead, and the blow was crippling. But Spectre was made up of people who were resourceful and merciless and prepared to do whatever they had to do.  _

_ Spectre did not rise - Spectre sank, disappeared like a wraith in the mist. It did not come to prominence - it only spread like the shadows at dusk.  _

_ This new creature, this thing that became of thousands dead, of the poison that leaked from the fangs of a goddamn monster, it was angry. It was hurt and bleeding and cornered, but it was living of fury and the burning need for vengeance. It slinked into the shadows, but a hunter who is hidden is the one who is guaranteed a kill.  _

_ Spectre didn't fall. Spectre sewed its ass back together, crawled out of its grave, and prepared to destroy the fucking world. _

 

His comms are still on, and every pained sound Tern makes is like fanning a fucking wildfire.

Iskatel is struggling desperately to find the signal, to pinpoint where they'd dragged their little brother. Ledger himself is sprinting down a hallway, searching for any hint of where the little fucking devil could be.

"Road ends here for you,  _ Tern _ ," The Kryptonian's voice sounds through the line, and Ledger grits his teeth. 

"Does it?" Tern's voice is wry, and Ledger isn't even surprised that he treats this so lightly.

He was a lot more like Lockliar than he had a right to be.

"Your fight's burning out," The kryptonian continued coldly, and there was a soft sound that Ledger could only assume he'd tried to pull the kryptonite talons out of wherever Tern had stuck them (He hoped the asshole had copped one to the nuts). "You humans... You're so weak. You're going to lose."

Tern let out a strained laugh, and Ledger's heart stuttered in his chest.

"What, you think you'll be able to beat us completely?"

"Red Ledger," Iskatel's voice is tense, and Ledger immediately comes to a stop, his breathing laboured. "They're in the industrial sector. 144-219."

"Copy."

Ledger didn't bother going back for the door. He leapt straight at the closest window and crashed through it, closing his eyes against the glass as he dropped through the air. He brought his wings down as hard as he could, and shot off across the sky.

"Keep it up." Tern continued tensely, his voice almost completely drowned out by the wind roaring in his ears, "Keep planning and plotting and telling everyone that you are going to win this war. If you think you can beat us, if you believe you can scare humanity into submission then I implore you to  _ try _ ."

Ledger fixed his eyes on one of the industrial buildings - the one with the big-ass hole in the roof, because Kryptonians were assholes like that. He ignored the soreness in his back and shoulders and ribs and goddamn  _ everything _ , just pulled his wings in tight and dived straight towards the hole.

"I'll see you in  _ hell _ , little bird."

Ledger's stomach dropped right down to his knees. He reached for his gun, checked to make sure it was the green-striped magazine, and dropped through the hole-

"It's amusing that you don't realise  _ hell _ is coming to  _ you _ ."

Ledger screamed, fired off three bullets, and the Kryptonian (Kahn-Or, one of the generals) dropped dead with a bullet in his brain.

Tern's body (battered and bruised and covered in blood and completely limp) flopped down on top of him, his leathery wings sprawled awkwardly because he still had his talons stuck in the Kryptonian's bloody shoulders. 

"Ledger!" Iskatel's voice was loud enough that Ledger's comm almost died, but he was too busy tearing the boy free from the dead alien to notice.

"Ledger, status!"

"Tern," Ledger whispered, placing frantic fingers over the younger's pulse. "Tern, hey, come on, Tern-"

Nothing. No pulse.

"Ledger, report!"

"Tern, please, no," Ledger felt tears squeezing from his eyes, carving clean streaks through the grime on his face. "Tern, no..."

Not now, not like this. Not when they'd gotten through so much, when they'd already lost their brother, when they'd only just managed to get the upper hand in this fucking war.

"Ledger..."

"Not you too, kid..."

He was too small, too still, too quiet...

"Ledger, please, what's going on?"

"Damian..."

He was gone.

 

_ "If you don't bring them home in one piece, Hank," Lockliar snarls, his eyes flashing dangerously in the lights, "You can forget salmonella, you're going to get fucking sal _ patella  _ because I'm going to shove your kneecaps up your  _ anus _." _

_ "Was that necessary?" Ledger asked tensely as the older man walked away, shaking his head like he didn't think Lockliar would do it. _

_ "Entirely necessary, Red." Lockliar sent him an incredulous look. "I barely trust Spectre to watch your back, why would I trust Primer?" _

_ "Maybe because my dad's there?" Ledger rolled his eyes, and Lockliar snorted. _

_ "I'll give him salpatella too if he doesn't take care of you." Lockliar sighed. _

_ Tern snorted next to Ledger, folding his skinny little demon arms. "Would you even be able to?" _

_ "Is that a challenge, little bird?" Lockliar tilted his head.  _

_ "No," Ledger laughed. He glanced over his shoulder at the exit, where the small group of Snipers was preparing to depart for Primer base.  _

_ "Take care of yourselves, guys," Lockliar said, shoving his hands into his pockets. _

_ "We've made this trip before, Lockliar. Quit your worrying." _

_ Lockliar rolled his eyes, but relented. The sharp edges of his wings softened, and he flopped one over Tern and Ledger's heads. Ledger scowled at the way it ruffled his hair, and Tern batted the mass of feathers away with a scoff. _

_ "We'll be back in a week, Lockliar," Tern said dismissively, turning away and holding his wings high and proud behind him. "Just take care of Syx." _

_ "Don't break the fricking house this time!" Ledger added snidely. _

_ Lockliar grinned as Ledger and Tern walked away. _

_ "I love you too, brothers!" _

_ Ledger laughed and waved, but he didn't answer. _

_ He wished he had. _

 

He fought beyond the end, because his battles were far from over. 

He became less a legend than a horror story. 

They called him a desperate soldier. They told themselves that Red Ledger was just a man too stubborn to accept defeat even though his side had long lost the war. 

It was okay, though. Because he wasn't fighting to win a war that was so long lost. He was fighting purely for the fucking satisfaction of raising hell for these bastards.

He thinks of Lockliar, gone like the wind - not even a body left to bury, not a single feather left to burn. He thinks of Tern, limp on the ground like a ragdoll, sprawled and beaten and bloody, his face still twisted in a ghost of that last god _ damned  _ grin.

He thinks of Iskatel, no more than a charred husk by the time they got to him.

He thinks of Spasitel, with the spear driven through his heart, propped up like some sort of gruesome flag of victory. The resulting surrender.

The loss of the war, and how it spelled out the end for everyone.

It hurts. Everything hurts. So Ledger decides that for every second he hurts, he's going to bring a hundred years' worth of ungodly wrath on these alien bastards' heads.

They catch up with him in the heart of what once was Gotham, but now was little more than ghostly ruins. It's fitting, he thinks, that he should die in the very city he'd started in.

He falls to his knees, and even though he's in more physical agony than he's experienced in a goddamn long time, he smiles. He laughs, and as the Kryptonian (Kal, Kal-El, the original traitor, the man who turned so easily on Ledger's father and recieved a long, bloody war as reward) raises some sort of alien weapon and points it at his head, he turns his hand, shows off the small device in his grip.

Kal-El, once the  _ hero _ Superman, has no chance to do anything about the trigger in his hand, because Ledger's thumb is coming up off the button.

Ledger goes out, as he always knew he would, with a burst of fire and a bloody laugh.

Something snaps, deep in his belly as the fire consumes him and the green gas spreads around the courtyard. 

For some reason, it doesn't feel like relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter isn't really very long, which is kinda disappointing...  
> But the next chapter is where the YJ plot really starts flowing.  
> Feel free to ask questions, I'll be happy to answer. Please leave a comment if you have the time, and have a lovely day.


	5. They Believe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introduction of a few characters. Kicking off the YJ: Invasion storyline with a little bit of heartbreak. Multiple POV's in this chapter.

Kaldur knew many things about the man Nightwing called his brother.

He knew that Lockliar had killed. That was obvious. It was in every move he made, every glint of his eye and overheard, stifled mental whisper that Kaldur occasionally caught in times of trouble. It didn't bother Kaldur, though - not like it would the others.

Kaldur knew a killer when he saw one - he was a soldier himself, after all. Lockliar was not a good man, but he was no senseless murderer.

He was a man who'd done some terrible things in his life - and it showed.

Which brought him to nights like this - nights where Lockliar didn't sleep. Everyone had nights where they didn't sleep, including Kaldur, but Lockliar tended to be the only one who actively roamed the halls in search of enemies. And on this night, Lockliar had stumbled into the kitchen on silent feet and poured himself a cup of the strongest coffee he could put together.

_ So _ , Kaldur thought.  _ This is to be one of  _ those  _ nights _ .

He was reclined on the couch, reading through a mission report, and Lockliar was hunched over his mug of coffee at the bench. Kaldur knew that, in the next few minutes, Lockliar would tip the entire mug down his throat and go off for a wander through the hall with his weapon. He would likely end up perched on the floor in the hall where everyone's rooms were, keeping at eye out for intruders.

That's just how nights like these went. Kaldur would probably join him a couple of hours in to keep him company.

(Though Lockliar never said anything about it, Kaldur knew that his efforts were appreciated. The older man had taken to helping him out with the reports in thanks. Sometimes he even opted to tell Kaldur about himself - stories that usually ended up with one or both of them laughing.)

Then Garfield had walked in, tired and shaking, and Kaldur went on alert.

Kaldur was not surprised by his presence, though he was bothered that a boy so young was plagued with memories that affected him so badly. He knew that Garfield had trouble sleeping, and M'gann usually kept him company until he was tired enough to pass out again, but the Martian wasn't here. 

Kaldur smiled softly at the exhausted boy, though he didn't seem to notice, too busy staring at the man at the bench. Kaldur glanced back down at the dim screen in his hands, wondering if he should put it down and help Garfield, because he knew very well that Lockliar was not the best company at this time in the morning.

And then Lockliar spoke, and Kaldur froze, completely unsure of what to do.

"Why are you green?"

Garfield stared at him. Kaldur peered over the couch so he could stare at him. Lockliar grimaced, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was exasperated with himself.

"I'll try that again," He muttered, running a hand through his shaggy hair. "Sorry. Uh, hello. What is your name?"

Garfield blinked a couple of times, then took the offered hand carefully. "Garfield. Uh, Beast Boy," He shook his head a little. "Who are you?"

"Lockliar." The man tilted his head in that odd, birdlike way that he so often did. He looked Garfield up and down, narrowing his eyes slightly, and Kaldur got the feeling that he was wondering about Garfield's age. Apparently, the boy had a similar impression, because he scowled.

"Problem?" He asked icily. Lockliar shook his head, turning his body more towards Garfield. 

Lockliar snorted, turning away. "It's too early for this." He looked back at Garfield, and Kaldur knew exactly what he was thinking.

Garfield was far too young to be having nightmares. Too young for them to be so bad he couldn't sleep.

"Then why are you awake?" Garfield asked, folding his arms.

"... I can't sleep either," He said, his voice soft. 

"Why?" Suddenly, Kaldur felt like he was intruding on something extremely private. Garfield's voice was soft, and he suddenly looked so small next to Lockliar's hulking form.

Lockliar huffed a bit, sounding strangely amused. He tapped the side of his head.

"Got too many demons up in here, kid." He leaned back, eyeing the younger. "Hard to sleep when they're yelling at me, hey?"

Garfield's reply was too soft for Kaldur to hear, but it made Lockliar sigh.

"Do you want to go back to sleep?" The sniper asked quietly.

Garfield hunched his shoulders. "Not really."

Lockliar nodded, his eyes flashing with something dark. He didn't try to argue, just held out his still-hot coffee towards Garfield like some sort of insomnia-induced olive branch. Well, that was probably what he intended to do.

As he was extending his arm, his fingers slipped, and the mug smashed on the ground.

There was a bit of a pause, then. They stared at the smashed mug and spilled drink in silence, neither of them seeming to have expected that particular turn of events. Kaldur felt an amused laugh building up in his chest, watching the older man's reaction. Lockliar was staring at the mess with an inordinate amount of disappointment, his hand still extended towards Garfield. 

Lockliar sighed, leaning forward to thump his forehead on the table. The sigh turned into a quiet groan, and then a louder one. He made a slightly pathetic sound, something between a laugh and choked whimper, and Kaldur couldn't help it.

It was two o'clock in the morning. He'd been quite bored for the last half-hour. The scene was so comical, so unexpected, and nothing like what Kaldur would have expected of the older man, and Kaldur just started laughing.

That seemed to break the dam. Garfield giggled, covering his mouth with both hands like that would disguise his amusement. His smile was wide and bright, and though his eyes were rimmed with shadows, they sparkled in that way that made Kaldur's heart hurt.

"What happened?" Came someone's voice from the doorway, and Kaldur turned to face Superboy with a wide smile on his face.

"It seems that our friend does not function properly at this time," Kaldur said, glancing over at Lockliar, who was glaring halfheartedly in his direction.

"He dropped a mug?" Superboy was incredulous, and Kaldur almost laughed again. 

Lockliar got to his feet.

"I'll make new coffee," He muttered, gesturing for Garfield to take his seat as he journeyed back over to the coffee pot. 

In the end, Lockliar still went on his nighttime prowl through the halls - and Garfield, strangely enough, was allowed to accompany him, padding along quietly just behind. When Lockliar settled down in the hallway, he allowed Garfield to huddle next to him, leaning in to the warmth of his side. He shifted slightly, rolling his shoulders in a way that Kaldur recognised as discomfort for his hidden wings.

He didn't complain though. He found a position that was apparently acceptable and settled down.

Kaldur, still with half his reports to get through, took a place across from the two, and Superboy slid down beside him.

"Kaldur," Lockliar murmured, "Check that one. You'll need to cross-reference it with yesterday's mission, see if there's a pattern."

 

_ Lockliar's mental presence was... Strange.  _

_ The man himself was normally quiet - he spoke very little, used few words. He always seemed to prefer watching than actively participating, though he was certainly capable of the latter. It was just that the most Kaldur ever heard him talk out loud was when he argued about the value of some comic book character with Kid Flash. _

_ The first time Kaldur heard his mental voice was contradictory. Not because the voice was different - he sounded perfectly fine. _

_ It was the humming. _

_ He didn't know what to do with the sound. In the background of the mind link, there was always that endless murmur of words that Kaldur could only half-decipher. It was a similar buzz to Kid Flash in more tense moments, or to Nightwing when it came time for combat... Except that it never slowed down. It never  _ stopped _. _

_ Kaldur realised, the fourth time he linked up with the sniper, that it was the sound of him  _ analysing _. _

_ Thinking. Endlessly. Looking around and calculating everything he did. Every step he took was planned, every shift of his weight purposeful. What could happen, what didn't happen, what mattered and what didn't and what he needed to do right in that moment and five seconds ago and in the next minute.  _

_ Weaknesses, where a bullet would hit, what effect it would have. Strengths, where he would be defeated, what to avoid, how to take care of himself. _

_ Kaldur brought it up only once. Lockliar smiled and told him that it's a habit to always know something about everything. _

_ (And though he wanted to, Kaldur didn't question the faint whisper of not-thought - like an empty space in the sniper's head, where the vague echo of the world came through, because Lockliar was always listening more for what was behind him than what was in front.) _

 

Robin cannot really be compared to Batman, or Batgirl, but placing him against Nightwing or Lockliar was all too easy.

Kaldur enjoys having the boy around, really. He's so different from the first Robin, great in his own way. He is his own flavour of strength, attitude, and spontaneous fits of absolute genius.

It was just that... Well, he wasn't at all the kind of person that Kaldur had come to associate with the name Robin.

The first Robin's style was all flips and feats of agility, showing off his control over his body, but Robin II was rougher. He fought more like someone raised on the streets than a trained performer. He was more tactical about it, of course, because no way would Batman allow his protege to fight like that, and Kaldur believed that he would become a fearsome opponent. 

But he was more of a boxer than the flying whirlwind of confusion that Nightwing had a habit of turning into.

Usually, Kaldur would dub this Robin as more of a brute than anything - bullheaded, stubborn, and probably not quick to listen to orders...

Except that calling Robin a brute was... it didn't fit.

Robin had picked up on Nightwing's need for snarky commentary and lighthearted jokes, and it got more and more intense as a situation grew more severe. He had no patience for hiding, but was also a master sneak, and he often mildly abused this ability. He acted moody a lot and was ready to argue at any point in time for whatever reason, but he also had a surprising knack for understanding people.

Robin just... Contradicted himself a lot. It was difficult to make sense of him.

Especially when Kaldur considered how he acted around Lockliar.

If Robin was to Nightwing as a boxer was to a ballerina, then Lockliar was to Robin as an ice cap to a wildfire.

Lockliar, tall and broad-shouldered, was surprisingly domestic when he wasn't being weirdly intimidating. He talked to M'gann about food and taught her to make something he called 'Banner-potluck' (which was basically some sort of cheese sauce with random bits and pieces thrown in for the hell of it). He sat down to watch static with Superboy, often ending up showing him some trick or other for taking down flying opponents. He was... Tame.

And then there was Robin, who seemed unable to do anything even remotely normal for longer than a few minutes.

He'd start baking cookies with M'gann, drift towards Kaldur to talk about atlantean weapons, disappear and run back to the kitchen with Wally on his tail, and argued about literature with Artemis while he was training. Anything casual ended up being mixed in with things that were decidedly not-casual. It was, of course, slightly amusing when he ended up juggling poetry slams while practising some sort of complex kick-flip, but it was also very strange.

Kaldur thought only speedsters would have that sort of need to to everything at once, but apparently bats did it too now.

Combining Robin, Nightwing, and Lockliar was never the correct way for trying to make sense of anything. They just... effortlessly combined their oddities to create one big mess.

They'd sit down to read books, as Lockliar often did... But only perched in the rafters or some other obscure place (such as on top of the fridge, as Kaldur had discovered late one night). They'd practise with close-range combat, but Lockliar would quiz Robin for an upcoming science test and Nightwing would give a lecture on plant anatomy.

Most entertaining of instances like those were the times when they'd just pointedly ignore each other. It was, Kaldur suspected, entirely for the reactions they got, but sometimes they'd take it to great lengths. Robin sitting on Nightwing, Lockliar stacking things casually on Robin's head, both of them pretending that they didn't even notice the other's presence when Nightwing casually picked one of them up to place them somewhere else, like they were inconveniently-placed salt shakers.

Nobody else was really included in their strenge dynamic. Nobody else really understood it.

Kaldur certainly didn't.

(Kaldur was happy that they were comfortable enough around the team to smile like that, because Lockliar wasn't the only one who carried himself like a man who'd seen all the bad the world had to offer.)

 

_ "Nightwing... My father is Black Manta." _

 

The team takes the mission to kidnap Black Manta the same as they would any other. None of them see anything wrong - anything truly abnormal to do with their new task. To them, it's little more than a routine op, made different only because of the power of the target.

Of course, only Kaldur and Nightwing are aware of what's really in the line.

("Are you sure about this? You know the risks, the consequences?"

"I am aware, my friend. But the way I see it, there is little else to be done.")

It's not the whole team out to complete the mission - only a group of six. Nightwing and Robin take front-line with Kaldur, Kid-Flash as backup. Lockliar and Artemis are posted high, for cover fire, armed with stun bullets and arrows and on high alert.

But Kaldur's father is already prepared to knock Kid Flash out with a well-placed net. The two long-range fighters were surrounded by hidden soldiers, all of them ready to take them out (but not kill, never kill).

And as for Nightwing and Robin...

Well, they have their backs to Kaldur. 

So, Kaldur watches for his father's signal, and the moment Black Manta knocks Wally's feet out from under him, Kaldur's bringing his water bearers down on Robin and Nightwing, sending a powerful shock right into their bodies. Robin goes down with a pained cry, and Nightwing follows soon after.

Kaldur immediately looks towards the place where Lockliar and Artemis had been stationed, and sighs internally. It appears that the soldiers had not been fast enough to fool the two, because they were back-to-back. Lockliar had converted his rifle into the long staff that Kaldur had been teaching him to fight with, which would not end well, and Artemis was firing off taser arrows as well as she could at such a close range.

"Kaldur!" Artemis yelled through the comms, "We could use a hand!"

Kaldur glanced towards his father, and Black Manta inclined his head ever so slightly.

"I'm on my way," Kaldur said, heading towards their position. 

The comms were left open, so Kaldur could hear the pained noises that came from the atlanteans and humans alike. By the time Kaldur arrived at what the team had taken to referring to as a 'Nest', the soldiers had managed to get Lockliar on his belly, and Artemis was fighting desperately a few feet away.

"Kaldur!" Artemis yelled, shooting him a quick smile, "Thank god-"

Kaldur leapt at her, delivering a swift blow to the side of her head that had her collapsing on the ground. There was dead silence from everyone in the clearing, watching Artemis' bow clatter away.

"What..." Lockliar's breathless voice was barely audible over the rain. "A... You..."

Kaldur turned around, frowning. He raised a hand to his comms, fiddled with them a little, before he found the right channel.

"Father," Kaldur said coldly. "The team is down."

What happened next was... not exactly something that Kaldur had planned for. He'd expected that the surprise of his betrayal would last long enough that Lockliar would be too shocked to do anything before he was knocked out completely. He was proven wrong, however.

Lockliar's mask moved in the way that meant he was scowling fiercely, and Kaldur had only a split second to realise what was happening before the older man was momentarily free of his restraints, pointing his beloved rifle right at Kaldur's face.

Kaldur had no idea why he was surprised. This was exactly what Nightwing had been talking about.

("It's a reflex, Kaldur. He'll aim for your head. You can't let yourself take a stun bullet to the head, because it'll shock your brain and leave you in... less than stellar condition. He won't kill you, but he won't let you leave if he can stop you.")

Luckily, Kaldur was an Atlantean. Kaldur was fast.

Kaldur jerked out of the way just before Lockliar pulled the trigger and the stunner went soaring past his ear.

He stared in shock as the soldiers detained Lockliar once more, but he knew already that no such thing would be happening - not with that look in his eyes.

"Kaldur you  _ bastard _ !" Lockliar roared. He arched his back, curled forwards, and let out a loud shout.

The back of his uniform  _ ripped _ , and a flurry of feathers burst from his back. In an instant, Lockliar was wrapped in shadows as the hulking masses of  _ his wings, Lockliar's wings _ stretched straight up above him.

For nearly a full second, Kaldur found himself mesmerised by the way the feathers glinted in the flash of lightning that tore through the sky. The sniper's wings were beautiful - not as slim as Wally's, though certainly suited for speed. The feathers were aligned perfectly neatly, smooth and curved to a precise point, and Kaldur felt the urge to touch it because  _ that plumage was so beautiful and it looked sharp enough to cut off his hand _ -

Oh.

Oh,  _ no _ .

He managed to snap himself out of it just in time to avoid decapitation via razor-sharp wing blades (And only now did he fully understand the term, because nobody really used the deadly form of these magnificent things. There seemed to ba a problem associated with blood in the feathers). Despite this, the ends of two of the man's primaries sliced deeply into his cheek, and immediately, Kaldur could feel his blood welling up, gushing down his face.

That  _ stung _ . 

(And Lockliar had nearly killed him, this was very, very bad)

He ignored the shock (because he'd never expected his fist glimpse of Lockliar's wings to be when they were trying to dismember him) in favour of leaping backwards, just out of range of the next attempt on his life. He thought quickly, glanced around him as Lockliar took down the surprised Atlanteans who had foolishly released him when his wings came free.

Lockliar's wings, sharpened and stiffened as they were, were definitely too heavy to fly with. They were undoubtedly just enough to slow the man down. He was quick, his movements fluid, and it was clear that he had some experience in using them in battle, but Kaldur had the advantage of being faster and stronger despite his injured shoulder. Lockliar was almost exclusively a long-range fighter, and his close-combat prowess was not nearly as polished as his skills as a sniper. 

He would be able to defeat Lockliar, despite the new (very sharp, very strong, very deadly) wings. It was just a matter of time that was a concern. 

The rest of the team would only be out for another few minutes before they returned to consciousness. And Kaldur was definitely not prepared to handle Nightwing and Robin, let alone Kid Flash.

Kaldur needed to act  _ now _ if he wanted this plan to work out.

Lockliar shoved away the last of the Atlanteans with a mighty push with the back of his wing, and the man (Omoro, extremely loyal to Black Manta, but not a bad man) toppled over the ledge. Lockliar ignored him and lunged forward, lashing out with one of his wings while the other spread slightly to steady him as he descended upon Kaldur. Kaldur twisted under the attack, dealing a swift blow to the sniper's solar plexus, and Lockliar grunted, stumbling back.

"Fucking ninjas," Lockliar muttered, pulling a knife seemingly from nowhere and whirling to face him again.

Now he had three sharp weapons with which to impale Kaldur. This was not going to go well for him.

Nonetheless, Kaldur drew his water bearers, and now he was only one weapon short of rivalling the furious man. Lockliar snarled and leapt again, spinning the knife into a reverse-grip and attempting to sink it into Kaldur's skull. Kaldur moved, punched him in the jaw, and slashed a long line across the taller man's chest.

Lockliar growled and brought his wings around in a deadly scissor movement, managing to catch Kaldur in the abdomen. Kaldur grunted, turning his right bearer into a mace and bringing it crashing down onto the bone of Lockliar's left wing. It connected with a loud  _ thack _ , and Kaldur apologised internally when Lockliar cried out.

Kaldur stepped forward again, swung his bearers, and Lockliar's knee made a loud  _ crack _ as it gave out beneath him.

They were at a standstill for a few seconds - Kaldur with his hands on his knees, fighting for breath, and Lockliar struggling to get to his feet. Kaldur hadn't managed to break the bone in the man's wing (which was genuinely surprising, he'd certainly hit hard enough), but he'd damaged it enough that the metallic feathers had bent underneath the force.

_ Don't get up, _ Kaldur pleaded silently, watching as Lockliar got his good leg under him.  _ Please, just stay down. _

"Kaldur!" Lockliar growled. Kaldur felt a rising hatred for himself and everything he was doing. The man's wings were curled protectively around him, his skin covered in scratches and bruises. "You bastard, what are you doing?!"

Kaldur forced himself to scowl.

"Lockliar," Kaldur held his hands out to the sides, and water swirled around him. He took in the scent of fresh rain and almost cried at how such a pure thing was tainted with the taste of betrayal in his mouth. "Don't look so shocked. Surely you of all people could see this coming."

"What is this? What reason do you have-"

"I picked the better side."

"You promised-"

"Promises don't seem to mean much, Lockliar!" Kaldur spat, "Your promises are empty! You swore never to fire a killing shot, and yet you tried to kill me not ten minutes ago! Your brother-" Kaldur's voice cracked for real here, and he had to screw my face up into a more vicious expression to cover it. "Nightwing promised to take care of Tula."

"No," Lockliar shook his head, suddenly looking murderous, "Don't you dare blame that on Nightwing! Tula made her choice-"

"And you know what happened?" Kaldur continued, as though the older hadn't spoken.

"Don't-"

"She died!"

"You bastard-"

"You talk about my promises to you, but what about the one promise that was made to me?"

"Kaldur-"

"The one thing I ever asked?!" Kaldur could feel angry tears spilling down his face, obscured by the pouring rain and the shadows on his face. Electricity was sparking across his skin with a sound like pebbles on marble. He latched onto it, trying to drown out the sounds of his conscience telling him to stop while he still could, to turn on Black Manta right there, right then.

While there was still a chance to earn forgiveness. While Lockliar was still willing to plead for him to stand down, still offering the chance for redemption in his eyes.

"I'm sick of this, Lockliar," Kaldur turned away from him. Of course he did. He had a job to do, a duty to fulfill. He and Nightwing had been planning this for months, he couldn't abandon such a crucial operation for the sake of Lockliar's hurt feelings. The ground hissed and leaves crinkled under his feet, and a wind kicked up around him. He could hear Lockliar's vicious cursing as he strayed further away, but he grit his teeth and moved on.

"If you leave now, you're never welcome back here, Kaldur'ahm!" Lockliar bellowed over the sound of the rain, and despite himself, Kaldur turned his head just slightly so he could make out the words. "You don't deserve the honour of a place if you run away now!"

Lockliar's voice  _ broke _ on the last word, and Kaldur almost cried. 

_ May whatever God there may be forgive me for this. _

He could feel Lockliar's eyes on his back well past the point where he disappeared into the water.

 

_ "You're a warrior, Kaldur. Of everyone in this team, you're the one I'd expect to be out on the front lines. Leading the charge. It makes you a good, powerful leader. I think, once everything calms down, you could teach me a thing or two about that." _

_ "I would be honored." _

 

The Mountain received the distress signal two hours after the team had left to get Black Manta. Superboy and Miss Martian took the bioship as soon as possible, headed off as fast as possible towards where Black Manta was supposed to be apprehended.

"Come in, Team Alpha," M'gann called, frowning at one of the screens with concern. "Team Alpha, this is the bioship. Do you copy?"

A moment of silence because several seconds, and that became a minute. Superboy glanced around at the other people in the ship (because Blue Beetle, Beast Boy and Racquel had all been dragged along to respond to the emergency),  then down at his own console, then at M'gann.

He was about to say something when the comms crackled, and he almost sighed with relief.

"This is Kid Flash to the bioship," Came Wally's voice, sounding pained even through the staticky comm line. "We... The mission was a failure. Black Manta's gone."

"What happened?" Racquel asked before any of the others could say anything.

Wally's voice was suddenly like ice.

"Kaldur betrayed us. Artemis is injured and Nightwing and Robin are still unconscious."

"And Lockliar?" Superboy and Beast Boy asked, oddly in sync. They glanced at each other as Wally replied.

"He's..." Wally coughed. "More pissed off than anything else, I think."

"We're almost there, Wally," M'gann said, voice hard. "Two minutes, tops."

"Copy that."

By the time they got there, the rain was falling hard enough that the sound of it on the hull was nearly deafening. They landed with a wet splosh on the ground, and immediately, Superboy tore out of his seat, headed straight for the ramp.

He stepped out into the storm without hesitation, scanning the area around him. Whatever signs of battle that might have been there must have washed away in the rain, because all Superboy saw was mud and trees.

Well, mud, trees, and the team looking far worse for wear.

They were huddled together thirty feet away, four pairs of eyes fixed on the approaching team. Nightwing, awake now, was huddled against Wally, a still-unconscious Robin cradled in his arms. Artemis was on his other side, blood running down the side of her face. She was slumped almost completely onto Nightwing, and it was clear that he was the only reason she hadn't keeled over right onto her face. It took a moment for Superboy to process what the dark shadow behind them was, but when he did...

Lockliar's battered wings (His wings, Conner had never seen his wings before, and even in the darkness they were  _ beautiful _ ) were carefully stretched over the group of younger heroes, seemingly shielding them from the rain. However, Conner caught the dangerous glint of his sharpened feathers, knew exactly what it was.

It wasn't just the rain he was trying to protect them from.

_ ‘Team Alpha!’ _ M'gann called in their heads, somewhat surprising Conner.  _ 'Are you fit to move?' _

Nightwing inclined his head. He climbed to his feet, though Conner could see his knees shaking. Wally was up next to him, carefully wrapping an arm around him and helping him forward. 

Oddly enough, Artemis had to help Lockliar get to his feet, helping him limp forward and taking a good deal of his weight.

Superboy narrowed his eyes at her, walking towards them to help (because he knew what a concussion looked like, and if he didn't take her place, they'd both tip right over).

"Here," He said quietly, ducking under Lockliar's right arm and taking the weight off of Artemis' shoulders. She stumbled a little, gave him a confused look, and then M'gann was there, helping her carefully towards the bioship.

Superboy sighed, but no sooner had he taken a step forward than he felt something warm settle heavily over his head.

He glanced up, somehow both unsurprised and completely shocked by the mass of black feathers that Lockliar had draped over his head.

"I'm sorry Conner," Lockliar murmured, blinking slowly. "I... I messed up..."

"You didn't see it coming any more than we did, Lockliar," Conner said. "Don't apologise."

Lockliar shook his head weakly, pressing his face into Conner's shoulder. 

"'N tell Wing 'm sorry..."

Conner opened his mouth to reply, but Lockliar suddenly went completely limp. His wing slipped off Conner's head, and Conner barely managed to keep him from crashing to the ground. 

He sighed, carefully lifting the man into his arms as a cold feeling settled in his belly.

(Conner was capable of great feats of strength. He wondered, then, why the weight of the world suddenly felt so heavy)

 

_ "Bad guys are always your enemy. They can't betray you. You know what side they're on, or you're pleasantly surprised. Good guys... Your allies? They're the ones you gotta be careful about." _

_ "So... Keep your friends close and your enemies closer?" _

_ "No. Just don't be too shocked when your friends stab you in the back with a spoon or something." _


	6. Crimson Haze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final thread snaps. Lockliar attempts to sink back into stability, only to overbalance.  
> It seems that the darkness far outweighs the light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, I know, but I lost the flow of my writing. Knew what I wanted to happen, had no idea how to write it, so I was a little bit lost in the void. However, I bring to you a chapter.  
> Warning: There is violence. And sads. And feelings. And a bit of torture, but I've sort of left a lot of it out, so it's nothing to be too concerned about.

Niko's hands are scarred to a ridiculous degree.

It's a combination of things, really. The kryptonite implants that had almost made his hands completely useless only a few months ago had left angry, twisted skin around his knuckles. He could always make out the fading remnants of little nicks and scratches, and the nasty line from the wrist to the middle of his index finger on his left hand from a wayward weapon. His fingers were a little wonky, and his wrist made a loud click when he moved it.

Honestly, they'd probably taken more damage than any other spot on his body.

The scars that decorated them were horrible and he was honestly surprised that he still had full movement in his hands after the abuse they'd suffered.

Under the influence of drugs, while Canary's trying to fix his busted leg, Niko stares at his strangely-bare hands with disgust.

They're his hands. Hands that have done... A lot of things.

Hands that have preened wings, saved lives, but have also taken, broken, destroyed.

Killed.

Of course.

He thinks about that a lot, he notices. The fact that he's a killer. He feels sort of like some sort of brooding teenager, and it pisses him off.

(Probably has something to do with the guilt of being surrounded by people who were so strong and pure and good.

Black stains show up best on white paper, after all.)

Niko pulls out his IV with a bitter huff, filled with the mind-numbing painkillers, and breaks the needle out of spite.

That's enough of that, thanks very much.

He passes out.

 

_Adne had been one of the more experienced spies in Spectre. He'd been a powerful ally, and a devoted friend._

_All Lockliar had been able to remember, when Adne died, was a dark murmur that the man uttered when his eyes were cold and his mind hazed over with alcohol. He growled it like a profanity, spat it out like it left a foul taste in his mouth as he took another sip or laid his head down._

_Lockliar killed the traitor Shadao himself, carved Adne's curse into the ground while the man's body was carted away._

_Schadenfreude._

_Something in Niko's belly twists, coils tight, and he can't sleep without thinking of the day Adne died._

_Except, in his dreams, it's not Shadao whose face is marred with a bullet from Niko's rifle, but Kaldur's, and Adne's body is not Adne's, but his own._

 

The two weeks that follow Kaldur's little jump-ship are tense.

The team doesn't take missions - or maybe they did, for a couple of days, but by the time Niko gets out of the medbay, they were out of action. They're lost - fractured, reeling because they hadn't found a way to deal with betrayal like he had. They grieve, they brood, and they're almost Spectre-quiet for those first few days.

Almost. Because they're not so much a well-oiled machine as they are a watch in the sand.

If their leader could not be trusted, then surely nobody could.

It takes a total of twenty-two days for Batman to get sick of their rut and send them on a mission. Niko's only just out of the knee brace, so he's left at the cave with Blue Beetle and Beast Boy while Nightwing, Robin, Artemis, Kid Flash, and Superboy are told to infiltrate some... drug trade.

Apparently, there was some sort of major operation going on, aiming for Gotham.

All they had to do was take it down before it got to Batman's city.

Niko knew, deep down, that it was far too major for their first time back in action, especially with the tensions between the members.

(But he's flashing back and forth between the now and the then, and Spasitel was seldom wrong, so he stood down, bowed to Batman's superior experience as a hero)

Niko takes up monitor duty for the deployment, stands before a half-ring of holographic screens, glances nervously at the feed from the bioship as the team approaches the drop zone. He's not quite sure where Garfield disappeared off to, but Jaime is clattering about in the kitchen while Niko splits his attention between the pre-mission chatter and his own research.

"I am very coordinated," Nightwing was saying. The light conversation had somehow drifted towards Nightwing's acrobatics, and Jason was adamant that Dick was literally the clumsiest person alive. It was a private joke that Niko and Jason shared, though both of them knew very well that Dick could probably walk a tightrope to Berlin if he wanted to.

"Yeah, but," Robin replied dryly, "I'm pretty sure I saw you walking into a table yesterday, Nightwing."

Niko snorted. "I saw him fall off the balcony last week."

Robin let out a disturbingly Dick-like cackle, and turned to point a finger in Nightwing's direction. "See? You're not as smooth as you have people thinking, Nightwing."

"Watch out, Nightwing," Niko grinned, unseen behind his mask. "We're onto you."

"Oh yeah?" Nightwing huffed. "Well Lockliar got his wings stuck in the walls and Batman had to help him get them unstuck."

"Talk about a walking tragedy," Artemis laughed. "He wedged them into the floor in the hall."

"That was one time!" Niko interjected jokingly. The team let out a small laugh.

"I don't know," M'gann said quietly. "I once watched Robin do a backflip and land flat on his face."

Niko and Nightwing laughed raucously, and Jason hissed and swiped halfheartedly in M'gann's direction.

"You're all bad," Jason scoffed. "At least I can do backflips."

"We can literally all do backflips," Artemis said, wrinkling her nose. "It's not hard, Robin."

Jason grinned broadly. "Wally can't do backflips."

Niko smirked. "Wally's a pleb."

"Spread the word!" Nightwing crowed. "Wally's a pleb!"

Niko laughed, turning away from the screens as the bickering started up. He muted his side of the comms, stared down at the panel in front of him. Looks like May of last year wasn't quite right either.

What the fuck kind of person turns that quickly?

(Kaldur was either very good, or Lockliar was losing his touch. Both were terrifying prospects)

Niko glanced back up again, then straightened up when he saw their location.

They were almost there.

"Team," Niko calls, pressing his fingers to the comms and interrupting the increasingly intense argument about something or other. "You're almost at the drop zone. Engage in radio silence. Emergency contact only."

"Copy that, Lockliar," Nightwing replies, voice steady, no sign of any of his previous lightheartedness. "We have a visual. Going dark."

"Copy. See you in three days, team."

There was the distinct clicking sound that meant the comms had been put on standby. Niko sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose, and stared up at the ceiling.

"Ad byl sdelan, chtoby sderzhat' vas," Niko whispers. "Slomat' yego khvatku i srazit'sya."

"You speak Russian, Lockliar?" Niko startled slightly, turning to look at the young man behind him. Jaime blushed, raising a hand to rub the back of his neck. "Sorry."

Niko stared for a second, then snorted, glancing back at the screens. "Don't apologise. My mother was Russian. You know Russian?"

Jaime cleared his throat. "Um... Only what the bug can translate."

Niko nodded in understanding, turning to face Jaime again. "Your spiteful space insect. I forgot he could do that."

Jaime laughed weakly and nodded. He glanced over the display.

"Why are you going through the mission reports?" Jaime asked, eyebrows twitching.

"All the missions we took with Aqualad," Niko ran a hand through his hair. "I need to go through them."

Jaime frowned. "Why?"

"I need to know when he stopped being trustworthy." Niko scowled, his hands clenching into fists. "If he ever was."

"You're... torturing yourself." Jaime reached forward hesitantly, placed a hand on Lockliar's shoulder. "You can't just... dwell. It's toxic."

"I understand that, Jaime." Niko sighed, shrugging the younger man off. "I just... I need to know. I should have known, I should have had some clue, some idea that he'd betray us. I just need..."

Jaime stared at him, but he didn't push for elaboration (thank god). He just stepped forward, stood there casually with his warmed-up pizza, and cleared his throat.

"Um... Hell was created to hold you back?" What an effective change of subject.

"... Contain," Niko corrected softly, tapping a few holographic keys. A new display popped up, and Niko glanced over it. "'Hell was created to contain you. Break its grip and fight on.'"

He heard Jaime step forward as he replied. "Is that a... mantra?"

"Mantra..." Niko rolled his eyes. "No. It's a quote from a novel. My favourite book."

"I... Have no idea what you're on about." Niko turned and gave him a slightly offended look.

"... You're missing out on a hell of a story, Blue."

"Well..." Jaime took a deep breath, like he was gathering his courage. "Tell me about it."

Niko blinked a couple of times, surprised at the offer. His research was forgotten when he pulled a blank on what exactly the series was.

Which was absolutely _unacceptable_.

He frowned slightly, looking down and trying to pull up what he remembered of the old three-part novel (it was a fucking _tome_ , Hansen should really have made each part a separate novel because they were long as fuck). It took him a moment, but he perked up at the surge of excitement that ran through him when he remembered the story.

God, how long has it been? Ten years, probably, since he last read the old thing.

"It's..." Niko stopped to clear his throat, pointedly ignoring Jaime's amused look at the crack in his voice, "It's about a soldier. A general, Anya Sokovich, the Beast of Berlin, the _Downside Hero_."

Niko could feel the grin splitting his face, knew that the corners of his eyes were crinkling, and Jaime relaxed slightly at the slightly geeky display. "She takes responsibility in Part One for this huge operation that went wrong because someone leaked the information, and she got demoted - almost disgraced because of her injuries. Took on a squad as Captain Sokovich. The whole series is about how she gets attached to them and sort of... rebuilds her professional reputation while reshaping her unprofessional one."

"And... the quote?" Jaime prompted, when Niko went quiet.

Niko cleared his throat, still smiling widely. "Just before their biggest mission, in Part Three. She's trying to explain victory to the youngest one on the team, Ritt Korrd - my favourite character, he's awesome, I love Korrd, he's just the best. Very well-written, relatable character. Um, Sokovich says, 'If you are afraid of death, then you should not be. Hell was made to contain you, Ritt. Break its grip, and fight on, because if Hell can't hold you, then nothing can defeat you, and the war is won.' Christ, that stuck for a long time. There's some pretty massive plot twists and everything, it is _quality_. I need to reread it."

"You know the whole quote?" Jaime's eyebrow twitched. "How long ago did you read it?"

"Like ten years ago. My old team and I used to quote the shit out of it when we got bored, and the Hellbreak speech is just the all time favourite. It's worth the read. I think I found a copy a few months back, rifling through Batman's stuff, but I haven't read it. It's not the English translation, it's the original Russian, which is obviously the best, but I could still try and find it for you if you want to check it out?"

Niko looked to Jaime, who looked both amused and startled by the sudden excitement coming from Niko. He cleared his throat, scratched his arm, but smiled warmly. "That sounds good to me, ese."

Niko full-on _beamed_ at the kid.

"Well, goodly then!"

Niko didn't realise until well later that he never went back to the mission reports, too busy talking with Jaime about his favourite books.

It...

It was nice.

 

_Dick knows he won't be much help. He's injured, exhausted after a night of patrol and two missions in a row, and he's not suicidal._

_But it's Jason. It's his baby brother, who had brought with him the broken mirror image of Dick himself, who had saved him in more ways than one. It's Robin, his successor, his pride, his protege, the boy who took up his treasured mantle and carried it like it was the greatest honour he could have._

_It's Jason, all soft smiles and boisterous laughter and recklessness and unending strength, who went off to save his mother and got captured by the Joker._

_And Dick..._

_Dick knows that he's probably about to make a monumental mistake._

_But there's nobody else he knows who would go against Batman without a second thought of the consequences._

 

Nightwing calls him from Bludhaven in the middle of the night.

Niko knows this because of the long string of emojis that the younger man had placed after his name in Niko's contacts and the ridiculous ringtone. He almost laughs, but he's too tired.

He picks up, waits for the line to connect, and-

"The Joker's got Jason," Nightwing says loudly, without waiting for Niko to speak. "I can't do anything, I'm grounded, Niko, please, I..."

Niko was frozen, staring up at the ceiling but not really seeing it. He went rigid, goosebumps rising on his skin at the sudden chill as he sat up.

"What happened?" He asked, all traces of sleep banished from his mind. He reached for his rifle (fuck yes, his rifle) and stood, pulling on his uniform without hesitation.

Nightwing swallows audibly. "He and Bruce had a fight... And Jason's... His mom got caught, and Jason left to help her, and I couldn't help him-"

"Breathe, Dick," Niko murmured, tucking the phone between his ear and shoulder so he could pull on his armour and gloves. "Did Bruce tell you all that? Were you there?"

"Bruce told me that the Joker has Robin and to be on alert. Then he shut down the zeta tubes. I..."

"Hacked the batcave." Niko ran a hand through his hair. "How long ago?"

"One minute-twenty-four seconds."

"I'll find him." Niko said, striding towards the door. "Send me all the possible coordinates."

"Niko... He told the team not to let you out."

Niko paused only for a moment, but a moment later he pulls up his mask and slips his contacts in. He smudges war paint over his eyes, and glances over at his reflection.

He doesn't look half as angry as he feels.

"Unfortunately for them, I'm a little bit desperate. Tell your boyfriend that if he gets in my way, I'm breaking his fucking nose."

He waited for no reply, just hung up and tossed the phone carelessly onto his bed as he left his room, sprinting down the hall.

He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and lets anger fill him with every inhale.

("The Joker has Robin. Be on alert.")

Be on alert. As though Bruce expected Niko or Dick to wait or heed his orders when that absolute psychopath had their brother.

("The Joker has Robin. Be on alert.")

As if Niko was expected to stand down and prepare to receive... Threats? Hints of a hostage situation?

And he didn't even tell Niko. Bruce was perfectly happy to just let everything fly right over his head.

("The Joker has Robin.")

Oh, Niko could count on one hand the amount of times he'd been this fucking angry.

He didn't even care that he was practically running blind, his whole world drowned in red.

His wings had burst free from his back, torn through the weakened seams on his uniform and carved deep trenches into the floor. He doesn't go towards the Zeta-tubes, knows that he hadn't the skill to unlock them if Batman himself had shut them down. He goes straight for the back entrance, leaned forward far enough that he was sure he would fall, his legs moving only just fast enough to keep him from falling.

He's half convinced to fly with his wings in full battle-mode, let steel slice through the air and pull him into the sky through sheer force of will and bloodthirsty vengeance, but remembers that the strength required would tear him apart.

(Something cracks, deep in his heart, as he rises into the sky too fast for the rest of the team to follow. He doesn't care.

He doesn't care at all.

He... Feels nothing)

 

_Jason'sbeencaptured-Brucedidn'ttellme-Kaldurturnedonme-Nightwing'shurt-Theteamisbreakingapart-There'snothingIcandoexceptthis-I'mhurt-I'm_ **_angry_ ** _-I'mbleeding-Idon'tcare-I'llregretthis-Idon'tcare-Idon'tknowifI'llcomeback-Idon'tc_ **_are_ ** _-Everything'sgoingtogo_ **_wrong_ ** _I'mtooangryIcan'tevenbreathe-Id_ **_o_ ** _n't_ **_care_ ** _Ido_ **_n'tca_ ** _reI_ **_d_ ** _on't_ **_ca_ ** _r_ **_e_ ** _-_

 

Jason's never been in this much pain.

His whole body aches and screams in agony - bruises bigger than his hands, the cuts from the edges of Joker's crowbar far longer than they had any right to be. He can barely move, knows that his arm is broken and his legs are broken and his body is _broken_ and he couldn't stand if he wanted to and he's so cold and hurt and _alone_.

(And his mother is gone, ran away the moment she got the chance, and the Joker had delighted in the pain, the betrayal in Jason's eyes when he realised just how little his mother would ever fight for him)

God, he wants to sleep, but he knows that if he sleeps, he's not waking up.

He wants to stand, to fight back against the deranged Joker, but he knows that he'd only get hit again.

Disgust rises in his stomach.

Nightwing would be able to get out of this. Batman would probably take two seconds to kick ass.

The team would find a way.

Lockliar...

Lockliar would be so fucking disappointed in him.

The thought has Jason jerking upright, but his ribs protest loudly to the motion and he quickly falls back onto his side with a pained cry.

He can almost hear the Joker laughing.

Wait... No, scratch that. The Joker was back, standing over him and hitting one end of the crowbar against his free hand.

"Looks like you're not quite done yet, little bird!" Joker cackled maniacally, raising the bloody tool above his head. He brought it down on Jason's shoulder, and Jason couldn't quite hold back the strangled sound that escaped him.

His throat was raw, his voice hoarse from all the screaming, but somehow he was still able to make that sound but not say two words?

What the fuck?

"What's it been now, bird boy?" Joker asked rhetorically, placing a hand on his chin and grinning even wider. "Four hours? Five? Bats hasn't found you yet. Do you think he's stopped looking?"

When Jason didn't answer, Joker kicked him.

"Do you think he's stopped looking?" Joker asked again. Jason struggled to glare up at the man, spitting out a mouthful of blood.

"No," He ground out.

Joker laughed, seemingly ecstatic, and leaned forward. "You're cute."

His foot came forward again, this time catching Jason in the chin, and Jason's head snapped back almost too fast. His neck cricked, and Jason grimaced at the feeling while the Joker kicked him in the gut. Jason half-curled in on himself.

Joker glanced off to the side, towards the covered table, and laughed again.

"Well, little bird," Joker cackled, "As much fun as we're having, I'm afraid we're gonna have to finish up!"

"What..."

"Oh, don't worry!" Joker took hold of the dirty cloth, whipping it out of the way and revealing the pile of explosives that he'd heaped upon it. Jason's eyes widened, taking in the countdown.

Two minutes?

"I still thought of you!"

Jason screwed his eyes shut, tears squeezing out as the Joker's laughter cut through the air.

It was... Shit, he couldn't breathe, he was panicking Crap, no, nonono, fuck, he couldn't die like this, not like this! He was going to _die_ , and the Joker was _laughing_ and the countdown was _ticking_ and someone was _whistling_ -

Wait. He tilted his head.

Whistling?

No, no way. Niko's never heard a whistle like that, not ever, it's too deep, too metallic, too loud...

That's not...

Holy shit.

Jason whipped around just in time to watch the dark form plummet through the roof, crashing right down on top of the clown with a mighty crash.

 

_The absence of my fury leaves me cold. Without it burning all around me, consuming me, I see nothing - nothing but darkness._

_My mouth tastes like ash, the air smells like smoke, and there's gunpowder on my fingertips. I feel no heart beating in my chest, but my blood rushes too-hot, too-fast in my ears._

_A frayed line, blackened by the searing heat that had burned everything away - hacked at with memories and betrayal and hatred and hurt, broken by the flames of my fury. One end, I know, goes on through the darkness._

_The other disappears into my own chest, nothing but a blackened, twisted two-foot length of broken rope._

_I am lost, but I am unafraid of the void._

_I fear nothing._

_I feel nothing._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confirmed: Niko is a fangirl.  
> Thank you to everyone for your support.  
> If you would like to know what Lockliar looks like, the art is available on my tumblr. I'll just give you the link to the specific image: https://castielisdefinitelyapterodactyl.tumblr.com/image/172945214117  
> Sorry the update took so long. Don't hesitate to tell me what you think!


	7. Backshot Bastard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lockliar is, first and foremost, a soldier.  
> (The people in this world apparently need to learn this the hard way)

It's over in a second, for Lockliar has no reason to hesitate.

Perhaps one might have expected a fight. A spectacular description of a battle between the dark hero and the tyrannical clown over Robin's life. Some sort of grand speech, or at least a moment to recover, a search for a non-fatal end.

Niko would have searched, for Jason's sake - for Dick's. Niko would have looked for a way to put the Joker away the way his family believed was right. But Lockliar was a killer, and Niko was only a heart. 

He wouldn't draw it out - he was not breaking that rule for this bastard - but there was no chance he was letting this be painless. So, when he crashed through the ceiling, he stretched his wings out just so, precisely aiming the feathers for all the best places - the shoulders, the forearms, the gaps between bones where only the most painful nerve clusters could be found. 

He landed on the target with a sickening sound, pinned him to the floor with iron-wings through his body as glass and debris clattered down around them. The clown let out a scream of surprise and pain, but Lockliar didn't much care.

He pressed the barrel of his rifle - armed and loaded with the red-striped cartridge that he carried on his thigh - and pulled the trigger.

One shot and the target went limp, brain matter sprayed across the floor.

Lockliar allowed for a small surge of disgust (and regret, because he didn't have time to beat the bastard to death with a crowbar), then rounded on his charge, who stared wide-eyed at the mess. Lockliar notices that there's blood dripping from his feathers, but shrugs it off - it wasn't enough that he couldn't fly, so there was no cause for concern.

It's not like he hadn't flown with bloody wings before.

More gently than Ledger (Red, Red Ledger, in the wrong uniform, but still his teammate, still his brother) had apparently expected, Lockliar lifted the boy into his arms, cradled him to his chest. He glanced over at the explosives, but he wouldn't be able to deactivate them in time, so he just allowed the stiffness to melt from his wings and took off through the gaping hole in the roof.

The boy let out a small sound of pain when the movement jolted his injuries, and Lockliar felt a whine building up at the back of his throat.

Ledger. Little Ledger, small and hurt and bleeding.

Lockliar needed to find a medic. Now.

He felt the torn edges of his uniform moving and  _ grating _ at the base of his wings, and tried not to let it distract him from his mission. The fabric scratched at the down and ruffled the feathers, and it didn't hinder him as much as annoy the shit out of him. He'd have to try and convince one of the medics to help him get the tangles out.

Or perhaps he could just deal with it.

He has more pressing issues.

Like the fact that he's in a world where the morals of the 'good guys' are a fucking mockery.

Lockliar knows that morals are important - something to guide you when you know you're slipping into inhumanity out on the field. It's all too easy to go from a man to monster when you're killing people. It's just that... Lockliar's moral compass was very specific and precise.

The Justice League was all pro-life. Never kill, never torture, save as many lives as possible - except that the civilian casualties are a million times higher than the villain death count and it doesn't matter how many people die so long as you hold to the idea of 'heroes' and it's not about saving people, but maintaining the moral high ground.

This world...

As amazing as it is, to see a world outside of the war he knew, this world was  _ backwards _ .

Lockliar has his limits. He doesn't draw out a kill, doesn't take pleasure from any form of pain, death or torture, and he most certainly doesn't abuse his abilities. He shoots to kill, never incapacitate, and if your life is in their hands, they'll fucking drop it.

He doesn't cross the limits, because he doesn't need to - he deals with a problem exactly once. 

God, but if this world were not so different from his own, it would be far easier to just fucking live on.

"Niko," Ledger's voice was almost lost, torn from his lips by the rushing wind. Lockliar knows he could go faster, but he doesn't want to risk making Ledger's injuries worse. "Niko, what..."

Lockliar frowns. 

"No names on the field, Ledger."

Ledger gives him a startled look, lethargy banished from his features. "What?"

Lockliar didn't reply. He banked sharply to the left, trying to keep his cargo as stable as he could as he avoided the light, searching for the most efficient way to get to some sort of healer.

Spasitel would know what to do. How to help.

_ Batman. Batman, because Spasitel wouldn't let a monster like the Joker run free. _

"You..." Ledger coughed, and Lockliar helped him turn his head so that the blood he choked up didn't get all over his uniform. Smelling like blood all the time was bad. His uniform was liable to hold more blood than was godly. 

"You killed him."

Lockliar gave Ledger a look.

"I eliminated the threat."

"You can't... kill people!" Ledger squirmed, and Lockliar tightened his hold on the boy. "What... What about the rules, Lockliar?"

_ How many times had the Joker escaped? How many people did he manage to kill before being locked away again? _

"I couldn't allow that monster to live." Lockliar narrowed his eyes at Ledger as the boy let out a small huff of air - he couldn't tell whether it was pain or surprise. "Any future mishaps would fall on my shoulders. Protocol 342: You save it, you're responsible for it, that's the law."

"What about the laws here, Lockliar?" Ledger asked, suddenly full of that familiar fire. "What about our rules?"

"I won't follow a broken code. Not if that bastard is the result."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that he nearly killed you!" Lockliar snapped. "It means that he kicked your ass and endangered this city a hundred times and would have done it again and that nobody else has the fucking guts to do what they have to do."

Lockliar spotted something out of the corner of his eye - something familiar. He dove suddenly, automatically stretching his wings around his precious brother as he approached the ground, keeping the unforgiving winds from tearing the poor kid apart.

Why didn't he understand? Red Ledger took to Spectre's rules and morals like a fish to water, even after Spasitel stressed so much to preserve life where he could- 

Crap. Lockliar winced, shaking his head, and snapped his wings out again, catching the wind once more and gliding gently towards the ground. Ledger - Jason,  _ Jason _ \- whimpered at the sudden change, and allowed Lockliar to lower him to the ground. 

He knelt down next to the smaller form, pulling the red sash from around his waist and gently pressing it to the gaping wound on Jason's side, where the edge of Joker's crowbar had seemingly cut deeply into the boy's flesh.

"Lockliar..." Jason coughed, tears building in his eyes. "Niko..."

"B will be here in a minute," Lockliar said, cupping the side of Jason's face.

"How did you..."

Oh. "Nightwing called me."

"He..." Jason looked kind of angry, and Lockliar frowned.

"Nightwing was injured and exhausted. If he'd come here, he would have died as well. He almost came anyway, but he called me instead."

"... Batman?"

"... Batman's been looking for you."  _ Alone. He didn't call me. He didn't let me know that you were gone. He didn't bother to tell me- _

Jason whimpered, eyes scrunching up at the sides as his fingers curled like a vice around Lockliar's wrist.

"You're... Not staying here?"

Lockliar let out a small breath of air.

"It's gonna be okay, little bird," Lockliar said softly. 

"Lockliar..."

Lockliar shushed the boy, leaning down to press his covered lips to Jason's forehead. "It'll be alright, little bird. I just... I can't sit here."

_ You almost died tonight. Bruce won't let me leave again until he's absolutely certain I won't kill anyone. The team is probably on their way too. I have to do my duty, I have a job, I took a role, and now I have to fulfill it. _

"Lockliar..."

Lockliar ducked his head, carefully laid Jason down on the ground.

"Hold on, Jay," He murmured. "I'm not letting this happen ever again."

Lockliar raised his wings, then brought them down as hard as he could. He shot into the sky like a bullet, blood flicking from the tips of his feathers and wind tousling Jason's hair.

He disappeared into the sky, raven wings and dark uniform indistinguishable from the filthy, dark Gotham night as the Batmobile screeched into view.

 

_ The blonde woman was crying, bent over the young Primer soldier with her hands fisted in the material of his uniform. _

_ Lockliar was on his knees beside them, breathing heavily and struggling to hold his guts in his body. His right hand was locked in a fist, cramped from the tight hold that Lockliar had had to keep on the ameteur tourniquet around the older soldier's upper arm. One of the medics was attempting to pry Lockliar's arm free from his body, and he absently told them to get back to the other soldier before he fucking  _ died _. _

_ He glanced down at the dog tags around the man's neck, only just able to make out the name through the grime and blood caked on the metal before he found himself being scrutinised by a pair of sharp grey eyes. _

_ He frowned slightly the blonde soldier, realising that her gaze wasn't focused on his face, but at the emblem painted on his shoulder-plate. _

_ Primer uniforms had no cloth masks - only the regulation hard-shell gas masks that every Seraph soldier had to have on them at all times. The woman's face was clearly visible, so Lockliar got to watch the corners of her mouth turn down in disdain. _

_ He didn't remember that mission for the narrow success - because the information was in the Primer soldier's pocket, on a shitty USB. He didn't remember it because the redheaded soldier (Whose name was Wallace, apparently, poor bastard) showed up a few months later with a prosthetic arm to thank him for his life - one of exactly three to go to the effort. _

_ He remembered it because of the way that blonde looked at him. The odd light that came to her eyes when she stared at the red emblem on his uniform that announced him as a Spectre soldier. He remembered the way she looked at him and didn't say a word. _

_ She didn't thank him for Wallace's life, for nearly dying to save him. She glared at Lockliar like he'd done something wrong by thinking to touch her lover. _

_ She was the first person to hate Lockliar for doing something good. _

_ And he could never think of the mission as a victory. _

 

Niko shows up at Dick's window and perches there for a good few minutes before Dick notices him.

He manages to  _ calmly  _ open the window so that the older man can slip inside, then rounds on him, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. His wings - free for once, because he's out of uniform and doesn't give a shit - are drawn tight to his back, feathers tangled. He's pretty sure the moment he tries to open them, they'll cramp up, which will be unpleasant, but he can't really bring himself to care.

"Is Jason alright?" He asks quietly. Niko perches on the back of the couch, wings folded neatly behind him, and cocks his head to the side. He's in full uniform, and the dark war paint makes the white lenses look sort of terrifying, but Dick's a little bit too concerned right now to be considering the fact that Lockliar low key looks like an angry serial killer.

"He's fine."

Dick pauses, blinks at Niko, because he sounds strange. Off. He frowns slightly, but Niko's eyes are drawn to the bluish glint coming from the half-hardened feathers of Dick's wings. There's a flash of concern that dances across his face for a moment, but it's gone in a second, and Niko gestures minutely to sit down on the couch in front of him.

"What... Happened?" He asked. Niko blinked slowly, but Dick didn't catch his expression. He unfolded his wings tenderly, wincing at the painful pull of the strained muscles, and Niko's ungloved hands were on them the moment he sat down.

"I neutralised the threat," Niko replied, carefully massaging the stiff joints and tendons, "And got Jason out before the place exploded. He's with Bruce right now. Alfred can help him. The sight of you is making me stressed, by the way."

Dick breathed a heavy sigh of relief, scratching the back of his neck and giving a small grunt when a knot suddenly came loose. He groaned, stretching out the wing gratefully, but the feeling of relief wasn't enough to shake off the...

The awareness that something just...

"That's..." He cleared his throat, trying to figure out exactly what was wrong here, "That's good. I'm glad... What happened to..."

"To the Joker?" Lockliar asked sharply, narrowing his eyes. Dick blinked at the sudden hostility.

"Yeah."

Niko regarded him carefully, and answered. "... Neutralised."

"And that means?" Dick asked impatiently, glancing back.

Lockliar bristled, wings rustling and puffing up slightly in exasperation. "Dick, what the fuck do you think 'neutralised' means? I killed him. Easy peasy, shut the fuck up and let it go."

Dick went completely still, eyes wide, and Niko cursed softly under his breath.

"Dick," Niko murmured. "Before you go blaming yourself, just-"

_ Dead? _

"-Are not responsible-"

_ Niko killed him? _

"-Own actions-"

_ Dick... Dick was responsible for this. _

"-Made the choice myself-"

_ Dick knew this would happen. _

"-Have done it even if you hadn't called me-"

_ Fuck, Niko killed a man and it was all Dick's fault- _

"Dick!"

Dick blinked in surprise at the sudden sting across his cheek. Both he and Lockliar remained completely still, mostly out of shock.

Dick turned slowly and levelled Lockliar with a bemused look. "You... Slapped me?"

Lockliar shrugged helplessly, then scowled and shook his head.

"Fuck..." He ran a hand through his hair, getting to his feet and placing his hands on Dick's shoulders. "Dick, how many people do you think I'd have torn through if I had to hear about Jason's death the morning after, huh? You didn't condemn the Joker, Dick. You saved Jason, and you granted the Joker a mercy that he didn't deserve."

"If I hadn't called you-"

"Then Jason, the Joker, and anyone who got in my way would be dead." 

Dick went quiet. He pulled his wings around him, pressing his feathers against his arms, and huddling in on himself. A moment later, he felt the soft press of Lockliar's feathers over his wings, and peaked up at the man's sad expression.

"It's not your fault," Lockliar whispered, and Dick swore that this was Niko, that this was his brother, shining through. He allowed the older man to wrap Dick up in a warm embrace of feathers and muscled arms, pressing in and holding him close.

They stood like that, in silence, for what felt like hours. Dick shifted slightly so that he could rest his head against Lockliar's armoured shoulder, and Lockliar loosened his grip slightly so that he was less pressed in and more...

Draped.

Which made Dick fully aware that Lockliar had once more flopped his wing over his head. It looked awkward, especially since he still seemed to be trying to maintain the embrace, and Dick found himself letting out a soft giggle.

Lockliar blinked, then smiled fondly, reaching forward and tapping Dick fondly on the nose.

"You're making me sad, kid. Quit your wallowing - my actions are my own."

Dick nodded slightly, and Lockliar pulled away, though his right wing remained securely rested on top of Dick's head. It was a ridiculous habit, one that Dick vaguely recognised as something his mother used to do - but nobody else.

Hm. It seems that that particular habit was a constant in all Mary Graysons.

Lockliar, who was watching Dick's expression, snorted.

"All this sentiment is gonna turn me into a marshmallow, Dickie-bird."

Dick laughed, and Lockliar chuckled for a moment before he snapped his head up sharply, glancing around.

Dick caught the movement, and sank automatically into a defensive position.

"What is it?" He asked, suddenly exhausted. Lockliar narrowed his eyes, then sighed, stepping away from the window.

"It's Batman."

It was Batman. Nightwing watched in near-fascination as Bruce appeared dramatically from the darkness outside his window, radiating fury and very clearly struggling to restrain himself. He ignored Dick and strode towards Lockliar with long, purposeful steps.

Lockliar was on the defensive in a second, the softness gone from his expression and replaced with iron determination.

And fuck, if they were going to do this now, then Dick was going to have a lot of...

Problems.

"You said you didn't kill, Lockliar." Bruce's voice was cold, and it sent shivers down Dick's spine even though he wasn't the one the words were directed at. "You gave your word-"

Lockliar scowled intensely, tipping his head to the side. "I did not kill a man, I put down a monster."

"You shouldn't have..." Bruce faltered, clenching his hands into fists. "It isn't your place to choose what they deserve, Lockliar, you can't do that. It makes you-"

"As bad as they are?" Lockliar scoffed. "Puts me on the same level? No. You cannot condemn me for this. Not after that."

"Bruce-" Dick tried, but the man ignored him.

Bruce carefully brushed Dick aside, giving his tear-stained cheeks a concerned look, then glared at Lockliar. "You killed someone! Heroes don't kill! Not only did you kill him, you did it in front of your brother! Did you not stop and think for one  _ second _ that he might-"

"How dare you?" Lockliar raised his hand and held up a finger in Bruce's face. "The Joker nearly  _ killed _ my brother,  _ Bruce _ , Jason was all I was thinking of. That psychopath has taken countless lives and you have been unable to stop him. Innocent lives do not deserve to be taken just because you don't have the fucking  _ balls _ to deal with a fucking animal!"

"People can be stopped without killing them, Lockliar!" Bruce yelled, slamming Lockliar into a wall. The younger hissed as his wings were ground against the plaster, but ultimately just glared at Batman. "That's what we do, we save lives, we don't take them!"

"Are you fucking kidding yourself, Bruce?" Lockliar smacked Bruce's hands away and shoved him off, slinking around Batman's form. Dick noticed that he had placed himself firmly between Dick and Bruce, half-shielding Dick from Bruce's gaze. "Fuck, he was never gonna fucking change! The Joker was a monster, and nothing you say could possibly that fact!"

"You can't deal with this like you deal with villains in your world!"

"I had to do worse! Don't you fucking understand?" Lockliar's voice cracked, and Dick almost took a step towards him, but stopped when Lockliar's wing pressed him back. "In my world, people like that didn't even exist! I have had to take down monster after monster after monster, and I cannot believe that you would allow something like the Joker to remain alive for so long!"

"What would Palach do, huh?" Dick winced at the sudden change of angle, and felt Lockiar's feathers grow sharp beneath his fingertips again. "What would she want?"

"Palach would have murdered every single fucking villain she came across! She would never have restrained herself as I have! Ivo? Dead! Queen Bee? Dog meat! The Joker wouldn't have even had the chance to touch Jason before Palach was putting a bullet in his brain! 'There can be no justice when the hand that holds the hammer is too weak to let it fall!'"

"That wasn't justice, Lockliar, it was revenge!"

"It was mercy!"

"No it wasn't, it was murder!" Dick and Lockliar winced in unison at the use of the word, and Bruce didn't even have time to feel regret at his choice of words before Lockliar was going off at him.

"He's lucky I didn't beat him to death with a crowbar! You know, like he almost did to Jason? Remember Jason, Batman, your son?" Lockliar almost knocked Dick over when he pulled his wings back, raising them aggressively. Dick raised his own wings defensively, managing to shield himself from the deadly-sharp tips of Lockliar's primaries as he damn near impaled them into the ceiling.

"He inherited the mantle of Robin. He nearly died, he would have if I hadn't gotten there in time, if  _ Dick _ had not called me! You know what, though? I did get there in time - and now my brother's alive, and the Joker is dead and you can thank your lucky stars that your son isn't half the fucking idiot that you are!"

"... You really think you did the right thing?" Bruce's voice was quiet, and he regarded Lockliar coldly. Dick and Lockliar both straightened, and this time Dick was half-shielding Lockliar from Bruce's no-doubt impending wrath.

"I know I did the right thing. I took the only acceptable course of action."

And that seemed to do it. Batman sighed, the only hint of his emotions being the slight downturn at the corner of his mouth, but it was enough that Dick knew how much his next words ripped him apart.

"Lockliar, I'm sorry. But if you can't be trusted not to kill, then you have no place here."

Dick gaped at Bruce, eyes wide, and Lockliar drew back as if he'd been struck.

"Bruce-" Dick began, then stopped when he felt Lockliar's hand on the top of his wing, gently pushing it down.

"I'm gonna stop you right there, Dick. I'm done anyway. If being on the team, being considered a  _ hero _ means I have to forget real justice, then I'm afraid I'm taking a leave of absence."

Dick turned slowly, watched Lockliar walk over to the couch to gather his gloves and pull them off slightly more violently than necessary. He walked towards the window, stepping up onto the ledge. 

"... I'm sorry, Lockliar."

Lockliar froze, glancing back at Bruce and Dick, who were both standing frozen where they were - one completely caught off-guard, the other apathetic except for the still-clenched fists.

Lockliar's mask twitched in the way that meant he was giving that dry smile. "No you're not."

He was gone, then - disappearing into the darkness with a rustle of feathers and cloth.

 

_ Niko dreams about war. Lockliar doesn't dream at all.  _

_ But when Niko wakes up, he escapes his nightmares. Lockliar wakes up to face them. _

 

Nightwing returned to the cave and found the team anxiously awaiting his arrival.

"Nightwing!" Wally yelped, getting to his feet and zipping over to Dick. "Nightwing, dude, what happened? Is Robin-"

"Robin's okay," Nightwing said quietly, submitting to the not-very-subtle checkover from his best friend. "Lockliar got to him in time."

There came a collective sigh of relief, and Wally led Nightwing over to the couches. Nightwing continued without further prompting, sitting down next to the speedster with a heavy sigh.

"I went to see Robin this morning. He's... Jesus, he's lucky to be alive. If it hadn't been for Lockliar..."

"... Kinda glad we didn't stop him, then." Artemis said weakly. "We... Batman told us to... To make sure he didn't leave."

Nightwing scowled. "Batman almost got a lot of people killed last night by trying to go solo."

The team went silent with shock. It was rare that Nightwing spoke out so openly against Batman's decisions, but with this kind of vicious disdain? Never.

"What do you mean?" Conner asked slowly. Nightwing sighed.

"Batman wouldn't have arrived in time. Robin was lucky to live as it was."

"And Lockliar?" M'gann pressed.

"Lockliar's..." Nightwing paused for a moment, unsure of what to say. Lockliar had seemed... furious, when he left. Damn near raging. Dick had no idea what the older man was going to do. He eventually settled on his exact words, leaving them for the team to interpret as they wished. "Taking a leave of absence."

Wally blinked, then tried for a wry smile."Don't sound so confident there."

Nightwing didn't smile. He just sighed, leaning forward and leaning his elbows on his knees. 

"... I think it's time to talk about my... My brother."

 

_ "Are we... Ever gonna tell them? The team? About... You know..." _

_ "That fact that I'm you except older and an ex-child-soldier from an alternate universe?" _

_ "... Yes." _

_ "Whether we tell them or not, if they find out another way, it's only gonna hurt. Preferably not... I'd rather not go into my tragic backstory now." _

_ "Why?" _

_ "Dunno. Just... Don't know if I could bring myself to explain the fact that I'm the only person in the mountain who's ever... Taken a life. Doesn't feel right." _

_ "... It's alright, Niko. You don't have to." _

_ "We'll tell them someday, Dickie, Jay. Just... Not today." _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all of you who have read and left kudos or comments on this story. I really appreciate your support, as always, and hope that you enjoyed this chapter.  
> Next chapter... Prepare for plot and character development.


	8. His Heart and Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lockliar goes on a bit of an adventure while Nightwing talks with the team.

_ "Wait, so... Lockliar... Is an alternate version of you? How does that even work?" _

_ "I don't know. I'm not an expert in the multiverse theory. All I know is that he was a soldier who died in an ambush on his base, and he appeared in this world and took Robin under his wing... Before he became Robin." _

_ "And... How old was he, at this point?" _

_ "... Fifteen, we think." _

_ "... What kind of world did he live in where he was a soldier at  _ fifteen _?" _

 

It's the dead of night, but for some reason, Jason's not tired enough to want to sleep. He's just lying there, awake, and staring at the ceiling, wondering when the heck he can leave and just go home.

He's thinking about Lockliar.

See, Jason's met the soldier before. He knows exactly where the line is between Lockliar the soldier and Niko, his brother. He knows what the difference is.

The man who saved him, that night...

Was neither.

Lockliar was a man of duty. Had it been the soldier, then he would have obeyed Bruce's order to stay out of Gotham, because that's what he'd have to do. Lockliar would put logic over everything else, and would only move in once he got the signal from his commanding officer.

And that was Bruce. Because Bruce was the only one that could ever be regarded as a commanding officer, in the Justice League.

Niko was not like that. Niko was far more emotional. Jason trusted both Niko and Lockliar with everything he was, but Niko was his brother. Niko was the man who snuck out with him when he wasn't allowed to go on patrol and bought him cookies or something. Niko was the one who did the floppy-wing thing, which was weird but so totally  _ him _ , and it was Niko who would break any law (official laws, hero laws... Laws of physics, probably) in order to save Jason.

Lockliar had saved him. But Niko had been behind it.

Jason didn't want to admit that he was totally bamboozled, but he was.

Because it was like there was no divide there anymore. There was nothing separating powerful, deadly Lockliar from warm, wonderful Niko. In his eyes, hidden behind white lenses and looking like moons with the war paint, Jason had seen one thing.

But he couldn't decide which one it had been.

He had had no idea who he was even looking at. He called him Lockliar... But was that really the right word for him? Because Lockliar had fire, but what Jason had seen hadn't been a controlled beam, but a blaze. Perhaps it was Niko... But Niko's eyes were never so sharp, never so dark.

"Feeling introspective this evening, are we?"

Jason yelped, whipping his head around to stare at the man perched casually on the windowsill.

Lockliar chuckled lightly and made his way forward, settling into the empty chair next to Jason's bed with a quiet sigh - and here was Niko, tired and worn but visibly relieved. His mask was pulled down around his neck, and his mouth was curled up into a small smile. His contacts were still in, and the paint was smudged where the edge of his mask usually was, and Jason wondered if he'd just come from a patrol or the mountain.

Lockliar glanced at Jason's shoulders, and he shook his head. Jason hadn't been able to pull his wings into view since he woke up in the hospital. His back was covered in bruises and his ribs are broken, so he wouldn't be able to reveal them if he tried. It would be excruciating if he did.

Almost on instinct, Lockliar settled one of his wings carefully over Jason's heavily bandaged legs, and the warmth from his feathers seeped through all the fabric. Jason smiled slightly, then gave him a  _ look _ .

"Sorry it took me so long," Niko offered quietly. "I've been... Avoiding Bruce."

"What happened?" Jason asked. Lockliar tilted his head.

"Bruce showed up to help you. I went to Dick's place." Niko leaned forward and placed his elbow on the bed, resting his chin on his hands. "He was pretty shaken up. He wasn't doing too well."

"Yeah, Dick said you dropped by," Jason said slowly. "But... After..."

"After Bruce?" Niko said, a little bit too sharp. "I, uh... I've taken a leave of absence from the team."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I've got some things to figure out." Niko sighed and rubbed his temples, screwing his eyes shut. "I'm not sure exactly what's happening, but... I feel... Different."

Jason blinked, his suspicious creeping up on him once more. "Different how?"

Niko shrugged. "Like... Before I was sort of... Caught. Between being a soldier and a person. I've been Niko on and off, but Lockliar's the one who goes out on missions. Lockliar... Was the one who fought Kaldur and lost, but Niko was the one who came home. I just... I can't find the line. I feel..."

"Like one whole person?"

Niko's head snapped up, his eyes wide. Jason smiled, winking half-heartedly at his brother as the older shifted to sit up straight.

"It's easy to notice when you're watching the change, Niko."

Niko gaped at him for a second longer, then snorted.

"Of course you'd cotton on before me, squirt," Niko got to his feet, ruffling Jason's hair. He dropped something in Jason's lap, which turned out to be a burner phone.

"You're leaving already?" Jason asked, sounding just a little bit desperate, and he instantly kicked himself. Niko chuckled, though he regarded Jason regretfully.

"Bruce is gonna visit you soon," He replied. "I'm... Sort of avoiding him."

Jason grimaced. "No matter what he says, Niko," Jason caught the man's gloved hand. "I'm... I'm glad you were there. And I'm glad that psycho's off the streets for good." He swallowed. "Thank you. For my life."

Niko looked like he was about to cry. He sighed, leaning down and carefully enveloping Jason in a warm hug. Jason held tight, squeezing his eyes shut at the twinge of pain  _ all over his body _ and the welling emotions in his throat.

"I'd raze the world for you, brother," Niko murmured, nose pressed into Jason's hair. "Duty or not, you're my family and I love you and I'd repeat my actions a thousand times before I let you die."

Jason didn't reply with anything but a choked-off sob.

"Keep in touch, Jason," Niko said softly, planting a kiss on top of Jason's head and gently pulling away. "Get better soon. I'd love to fly with you again."

"Sure thing... Big brother."

Niko beamed and tossed out a jaunty salute, falling backwards out the window.

 

_ "He doesn't exactly strike me as a homicidal maniac." _

_ "That's because he never was. He's just... He's a soldier. He's killed a lot of people, and I'm reasonably sure he remembers them all. He grew up fighting to survive, and that meant that he ended up with more blood on his hands than we have collectively." _

_ "... He's a killer." _

_ "He's a good man, a fighter and survivor of our equivalent of an apocalypse. I dare you to call him that again." _

 

Niko was lounging.

Sort of. He was sprawled on the raised edge of a roof somewhere in Bludhaven. He wasn't too far away from Dick's place, and he was considering dropping by before Dick told him he needed him to cover Bludhaven for him tonight.

In all honesty, he was avoiding returning to his new, Shitty Apartment TM as much as possible, and patrolling Bludhaven in Dick's place was just the perfect excuse.

Which he didn't need.

Because he lived alone in a building that smelled like feet and crime.

Batman would love the place.

He snorted, glancing down at the small device in his hand. He'd never gone anywhere with a phone before - he had no civilian identity, no civilian friends. He just kicked ass as Lockliar and moped about the mountain occasionally haunted Wayne Manor until he moved out. He had had no use for a phone.

Until, of course, Jason got put in the hospital and Niko temporarily cut off contact with the team.

Even now, he only had two numbers on his phone - Dick's and Jason's, because he knows that neither of them will share his new number with Bruce out of pure spite spawned from their powerful sibling bond.

He sighed, opened up the weird speech-bubble app, and tapped awkwardly at the keys.

N:  _ some guy asked me what my name was today _

N:  _ I said I was Ted _

And hey, that was a nice thing to start off with, right? He'd been giggling on and off about it ever since he left the gobsmacked man behind on the street, so surely his brothers would get a kick out of this.

J:  _ Actually? _

Niko smiled at the incredulous reply.

N:  _ Ted is short for Tedward _

J:  _ No _

He grinned to himself, glancing around suspiciously. He could see only a few people out at this time, and his eye was drawn to a pair of men walking side by side down the sidewalk...

Right towards a slight woman who was distracted by her phone.

_ Honestly, though, same. _

D:  _ Next time u should be Des _

J:  _ What's Des gonna be short for tho? _

N:  _ Destroyer of worlds _

N:  _ Genius _

He shoved the phone into a pocket that it certainly wouldn't stay in if he wasn't careful and leapt off the top of the building. He landed on the next one only barely, and cursed the fact that he apparently had to hide his damn wings away if he ever wanted to be sneaky.

He narrowed his eyes, watched the two men split so that the woman could walk between them.

They walked on. Nothing happened. Niko sighed.

It seemed that it was a quiet night in Bludhaven...

Bludhaven the hell city.

Wasn't that  _ fucking suspicious? _

He brought out his phone again, intending to just say goodbye and shut it off, but then he caught sight of what the younger two were saying.

D:  _ Jason just fell off the bed _

D:  _ He's laughing a lot _

J:  _ Why do u know that? _

J:  _ Are u here? _

D:  _ No I hacked the security cams _

D:  _ Stop laughing Jason it wasn't that funny _

Niko smirked. He could spare a minute.

N:  _ I'm hilarious, Dickk _

N:  _ Admit it _

N:  _ Yr jealous that I'm basically the best _

D: _ You cauGHT ME _

D: _ I THOUGHT I WAS BEING SUBTLE BUT APPARENTLY NOT _

D: _ UR A LEGEND NIKO _

D: _ I AM UNDENIABLY ATTRACTED TO YOU _

D: _ U SEXY BEAST _

D: _ 100% LAD YR A UNITTTT _

N: _ I can't make any of the comments I want to make bc Jason is 12 _

J:  _ Fuck you I'm 15 _

D: _ Go back to work, Tedward _

J: _ Yeah dumbass go stop a gang or something _

J: _ Talk when you're done _

Niko chuckled and tucked the phone in behind his breastplate, rolling off the building with a whoop and pulling out his grappling line.

He loved flying. He loved having his wings out and twisting and diving through the air on a whim.

But damn, there was something extraordinary about  _ falling _ .

Nightwing had taught him that.

"Okay!" He murmured to himself, firing off his grappling hook at the last second. "Time to get to work."

 

_ "Why would you not tell us before now?" _

_ "... What, that he's an alternate version of myself or that he kills people?" _

_ "Both." _

_ "Because neither is true. He's not me, he's him, and we're very different in more than just personality. And in his years in this world, he never killed anyone." _

_ "... Until Joker." _

_ "... Yeah. Until Joker." _

 

Jack woke up in a place that was definitely not his home.

He struggled, briefly, but there was very little he could do in this kind of situation. He was trussed up like one of those cartoon villains, incapable of moving, lying prone on the floor at the feet of a couple of hulking, brutish guys with...

Guns.

Oh. Okay.

"Alright," One of the men snapped, whirling around and giving Jack a dirty look. "We got the kid. Let's go."

"Shut up, Harry," Another drawled, smirking down at Jack like he was making sure the boy knew that he could see him. "We have time."

"Not much," 'Harry' muttered, glancing around and frowning at Jack. "Never know how long the Bat's gonna take."

"A bit longer than you think. Didn't you hear about what happened to his little sidekick?"

"... Right." Harry took a deep breath, running a hand through his minimal hair. 

"Where the fuck is the driver?" He snapped a second later. "He should be here by now!" 

Jack blinked. Could... Could they not drive?

That's poor planning, Harry.

Jack had a couple of seconds to keep himself from laughing at the idea before the wall blew inwards.

Harry and his friends shouted, thrown away from the brand new wall hole. Jack was sent rolling and skidding a few feet, his head pounding and his eyes leaking tears as his ears echoed the boom. 

He had enough sense to shield his head as best he could with his bound hands, and his forearms were battered with flying debris. He coughed a little at the faceful of dust he was gifted with, struggled to breathe through the cloud.

He coughed, struggling not to get too much wall in his lungs. Thing is, the dust cloud was so thick that any air he managed to get tasted like drywall. He felt dizzy.

Idly, he thought he was about to die - and the idea almost had him panicking, until a gloved hand slipped something soft over his head, covering his nose and mouth, and Jack found that he could breathe again.

The air, filtered through what felt like a cloth mask, smelled like grass and something vaguely smokey.

It was the best thing he'd ever smelled in his  _ life _ .

"I figured the people in Gotham were smart enough not to mess with kids," A familiar voice growled, closer than Jack would have expected. "Apparently I was mistaken."

Jack cranked open one eye, peering up at the man currently crouched over him. He couldn't see much more than a silhouette, but he definitely recognised whoever it was.

Crap, but who was it?

"Shit... Hang on, kid."

The shadow pulled out a knife from somewhere obscure and sliced through Jack's bonds. He took hold of the boy's arms and hoisted him up, planting him firmly on his back. Jack had to tilt his head awkwardly to the side avoid having his nose broken by the long weapon strapped to the man's back, and buried his face as well as he could into his broad shoulder.

"So glad I came to Gotham tonight. Hold on tight," The shadow murmured, walking out of the building and tossing something behind him that went off with a loud bang and bright flash of light. Someone fell over, and Jack whimpered, tightening his legs around the man's waist as he launched into the air, firing off a grappling gun.

He didn't even seem to notice Jack's weight on his back as he was jerked up. He soared, wingless but somehow still graceful as heck, through the air. Jack's own wings were hidden away, but he was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to fly even if they were free.

God, he was shaking. His wings were straining to be let free, but he knew he probably shouldn't.

He didn't want to unbalance the man.

"Hang in there, kid," The shadow's voice came again, and Jack wondered where he'd heard it before, because  _ he definitely had _ . "You'll be okay."

Jack made a choked sound of acknowledgement, and suddenly they were on a flat surface, and his saviour was running instead of flying. Jack gasped as he planted one booted foot on the edge of the roof they were on and  _ leapt _ , clearing the gap and landing solidly on the roof across.

The man - and Jack had a sneaking suspicion of who it was, especially now that they were out of the awful, choking dust cloud and into the night air - continued like that for several minutes - leaping and dancing along the buildings. He was huffing a little bit by the time he came to a stop on top of...

Jack's apartment building?

It clicked in Jack's head as his saviour carefully placed him down on the roof.

"You're Lockliar!" Jack whisper-yelled, his grin so wide it almost hurt.

The hero -  _ hero _ \- seemed shocked by his enthusiasm. "I am indeed."

"You're my hero!"

Lockliar blinked at him. "Jack..." His eyes widened slightly and he rocked back on his heels, suddenly looking more relaxed as he regarded the blonde boy. "That remains a terrible life decision."

Jack's jaw dropped.

"You... You remember my name?"

Lockliar gave him a strange look, and Jack almost shivered under the man's pearly gaze.

"Of course I remember your name," He said, his voice almost a drawl. "You're  _ my _ hero, remember?"

_ You're my hero too, kid. _

Lockliar's eyes crinkled up a little at the corners, and he shifted slightly. He tilted his head, raising one eyebrow at Jack and gripping the fire escape so he didn't tip over backwards as he swung his legs.

"You know why you got snagged, Jackie?"

Jack winced at the nickname. "I, uh... Because my parents are..."

"Your parents aren't exactly loaded, Jack." Lockliar sighed. Jack bristled a little bit.

"We're not poor."

"I didn't say you were poor," Lockliar said. "I said you're not rich."

"So why..." Jack held his hands out to either side, confused. Lockliar sighed again.

"You know how your parents are working on a big project for Wayne Industries?" Jack nodded, frowning. "Odds are, whoever hired those guys wants either information or the plans for it."

"For what?"

"... I think it's some sort of particle accelerator or something. Very sciencey."

Jack startled a little, surprised that he actually got an answer. He peered suspiciously at the dark-haired man. "... Should you be telling me that?"

Lockliar made a show of looking him up and down, then shrugged. "You're not gonna tell anyone."

"... How do you know that?"

"Because you're my hero, remember, Jack?" Jack's heart jumped, and his lips stretched into a smile. "Can't be a hero if you can't be trusted."

"You... Trust me?" Jack didn't think that sounded like a good idea. Lockliar shrugged.

"I trust that you don't want to be in trouble again," Lockliar replied. He reached forward, hesitating only slightly, and ruffled Jack's hair.

"Go on inside, squirt," Lockliar murmured, shifting to the side and placing the blonde onto the fire escape.

"Wait," Jack whirled around, biting his lip nervously. Lockliar inclined his head slightly, standing up and waiting for Jack to continue. "Will I..." Jack swallowed, glancing down at his feet. "Will I see you again?"

Lockliar made a strange sound - something between a laugh and a huff - and turned, strolling towards the edge of the roof.

"Only if you want to."

Jack gaped at the man's back as he pulled out his grappling gun once more.

"It's not Lockliar anymore, by the way."

What?

"Call me Palach."

 

_ "... So what do we do?" _

_ "Nothing. You do nothing. If you want to talk to Lockliar about his sob-story, talk to him about it. He's exactly the same man he's always been. I expect you to treat him that way." _

 

"Hello?"

"Hey, Niko. I think we should talk."

"Jay? I'm on patrol. And Bruce hates me."

"There's a kid here who knows who we all are. His name's Tim."

"... Bruce hates me."

"Bruce isn't here. We're on our way to your apartment. Dick's gonna meet us there."

"... Does Bruce know?"

"Probably. Maybe. Uh, possibly. Look, will you just..."

"Yeah, alright. Be there in ten, there's a mugging."

Jason hung up without answering, glancing over his shoulder at the younger boy who was half-stumbling along behind him.

It was going to be... A long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, readers.  
> I just thought I should let you know that I don't do more than very little editing. Meaning that I go through, put in the formatting, and then correct any red underlines that I happen upon.  
> Leave your feedback if you will, let me know what you think, and prepare for possible emotional damage because the next chapter...  
> She's going to be a doozy.


	9. Pyrrhic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As it goes, Peace is as hard to hold on to as it is to fight for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, it has been a while.  
> Sorry it's taken so long, I've been swamped in other commitments, but here's the next chapter. Mostly world building happening at the moment, but hopefully the advancement of the plot won't be too painful.

Tim was a scrawny little thing. 

He had a mop of dark hair and tiny shoulders, and despite Jason's jacket, he was shivering in the cold. Dick took one look at the two of them, standing right outside Niko's apartment door, and let them both inside, shrugging off the stolen hoodie that he'd pulled on upon arriving and looking over Jason.

Jason was covered in bandages and wasn't supposed to be walking. Of course, Dick wasn't surprised that he'd somehow made it all the way here in his boot and sling without accepting help from his small companion.

What a dumbass.

"Jaybird," He said, frowning in concern as he shoved the hoodie carefully over Jason's head. "Why didn't you wait for Bruce?"

"I don't know what he'd do," Jason replied quietly.

"He wouldn't hurt him." Dick tipped his head towards Tim, who was watching them quietly, still shivering.

"I know he wouldn't hurt him," Jason said, "I just... Don't know what he'd do."

"And you know what Niko and I will do?" Dick frowned. Jason smirked at him, making a finger-gun with his good hand.

"I figured he'd go for adoption or something."

Dick snorted, standing straighter and leading both boys towards the kitchen.

"Niko should be here in a minute," He said softly, allowing Jason to duck in to his side carefully wrapping an arm around the boy's shoulders. Jason was still worryingly thin even after the major parts of his recovery. He hadn't been able to pull his wings out without pain ever since, and the strain of keeping them tucked away for so long was showing in the bunched-up steel cables that made up his back muscles. "You want hot chocolate?"

"I'm fifteen, Dick."

"You're cold." Dick looked over to the other boy. "Tim, do you want hot chocolate?"

Tim looked slightly startled at being addressed, but nodded shyly.

"Tim wants hot chocolate, Jason. Do you want hot chocolate?"

Jason sighed and nodded. He smiled dryly. "Why won't you just call it cocoa?"

Dick wrinkled his nose. "Because I hate that word. It's stupid."

"I don't understand why, though."

"Niko does."

"You're almost literally the same person."

Dick rolled his eyes and walked over to the couch, gesturing for both boys to sit down. He pulled a couple of blankets out of the hall closet and tossed them over the shivering boys, strolling toward the kitchen and pulling hot chocolate powder out of the cupboard.

"How long did it take you to get here?" Dick asked, glancing over to the boys. They seemed to have been startled out of their little staring contest, and Dick smothered a laugh.

"A while," Jason answered vaguely. Dick harrumphed, picking up the hot drinks and carrying them with exaggerated care to the couch.

"So why are we dealing with this here?" Dick asked, drawing the boys' attention once more.

"Split second decision." Jason nodded at Tim, who was sipping mutely at his drink. "Tim told me he knew who we were and we left. Your house is a mess and Bruce and Niko have the unspoken agreement that if Bruce breaks into this apartment, Niko gets to throw him out the window."

Dick nodded mutely. Niko hadn't been back to the manor since Joker, and he and Bruce were only recently back on speaking terms. But... That didn't quite explain why Jason had come here instead of calling Bruce. "... What's wrong with Bruce knowing? It's not like he'd do anything bad."

"It's not that he'd do anything bad." Jason sighed. "It was just... I didn't know what he  _ would _ do."

Dick hesitated for a moment, and then nodded his head in understanding. 

A recurring trait that Jason seemed to have picked up from their dear big brother was that, no matter how much Jason trusted Bruce, there still remained that little voice in his head that told him not to trust any outcome he couldn't be at least fifty percent sure of. Dick would know - he'd picked up a similar little voice after so many nights out with both Lockliar and Palach.

The paranoid little voice, which sounded like Niko, though the man was never allowed to know.

(If Jason thought there was less than a fifty percent chance that Bruce would react well to Tim's presence, then neither Dick nor, he was sure, Niko, would complain about his decision to search them out. Sometimes a little bit of paranoia was enough to save your life.

In Niko's words, it was plus fifty-fifty, or plus fifty dead.)

"Alright." Dick crouched carefully in front of the couch, catching Tim's eyes and holding them.

"Your name is Tim?" He began softly. Tim shifted, his gaze hardening, like he expected Dick to start interrogating him.

Smart kid.

"Yeah," Tim replied. 

"How much do you know?"

"I know that you're Nightwing," Tim nodded towards Jason, "And he's Robin. I know that this Niko guy is probably Lockliar, Palach now. I know Bruce Wayne is-"

Dick waved his hand, making a sharp hissing sound with his tongue and teeth, and Tim cut off abruptly. It was habitual at this point to keep any connections between Bruce Wayne and Batman non-verbal.

Dick gave him a small smile. "Do you intend to reveal this information?"

Tim breathed in a little sharply, and Dick frowned again. "No."

Dick narrowed his eyes, peering intently into Tim's eyes. The boy didn't waver, just held Dick's gaze.

He wasn't lying. He was nervous and possibly afraid, and caught off guard, presumably by the fact that Jason had dragged him from Gotham to Bludhaven, but he wasn't lying. 

Dick knew what liars looked like.

He nodded, taking the boy's word and standing up.

"Alright."

Tim blinked. "Alright?"

"Yep."

"Just like that?"

"It's enough for me," Dick shrugged, rocking back on his feet and smiling wanly. 

Jason snorted. "Won't be enough for Niko."

Dick nodded, then frowned.

"When did he say he'd be back?"

Jason blinked, glancing at the clock, but before he can say anything, someone bursts in through the door.

 

_ "Lockliar?" _

_ Lockliar's head snapped up, a lock of hair flopping down in front of his eyes. He frowned and flicked it away, making an annoyed sound in the back of his throat. _

_ "Artemis?" He asked, sounding surprised. "How can I help you?" _

_ Artemis snorted at the defensive posture he had automatically adopted, and flopped down onto the floor beside him. _

_ "Don't look so scared there, Lockliar," She smirked. "Just got a question for you." _

_ Lockliar nodded, his posture easing. "Shoot." _

_ He seemed amused by the word, but she decided not to berate him for the joke. _

_ "How the heck did you hit that mark?" _

_ She referred, of course, to the absolutely ludicrous shot that he had taken on their last mission. Artemis was sure she could have made it... If she'd had time to plan for it. He'd taken one look at the thug, turned his gun, and shot, and the pistol in the man's hand had gone skittering across the floor so that Robin could take him out. _

_ Except that the only clear shot that she'd seen had been a fatal one. _

_ Lockliar hadn't even hesitated to switch out the blue-striped cartridge of stun bullets for the silently-forbidden red-striped cartridge, and she'd thought instantly that there was going to be a death. _

_ But then the bullet had ricocheted off a steel beam and struck the bastard right in the hand, and that was just not supposed to be possible. _

_ "What?" He blinked. "You mean the... The guy with the pistol? The one that snuck up on Robin?" _

_ Artemis nodded, scowling. "How? I thought..." _

_ Lockliar sighed heavily. "You thought I'd kill the bastard, didn't you?" _

_ Artemis hesitated, then nodded. She wasn't going to lie to his face. Lockliar waved his hand. _

_ "Don't feel guilty. I thought I'd have to kill him too." He scratched at the back of his neck. "It's a... It's a habit that you pick up, where I come from. I mean, straight shots are always nice, but sometimes you have to get creative. That hit..." He shrugged. "It wasn't easy, but... It wasn't a Cross-shot." _

_ She tilted her head. "You have experience with deflector panels, don't you?" Lockliar nodded, smiling. _

_ "Good spot, Artemis." He shrugged. "As a sniper, you gotta know all the best things to bounce your bullets off. The stun bullets don't ping off unless you get a very specific angle, which wasn't available. Explosives are obvious no-no's. The reds are the only ones that bounce proper." _

_ Artemis nodded slowly. "I heard Batman chewing you out." _

_ "I kinda deserved it." _

_ Artemis took a deep breath and steeled her resolve. "I think it was an awesome shot." _

_ Lockliar looked slightly surprised, his white eyes widening, but his mask twitched in that smile-like way, and his eyes lit up at the praise. "Thank you, Artemis. You're a damn impressive shot yourself." _

 

Niko takes out the muggers with a well-placed stun bullet and a crippling kick in the balls.

It's not the most noble of tactics, but he's found that a straight shot to a man's crotch is a damn fast way to take him out. He's pretty sure that neither Batman or his brothers would try such a move. Jason actually probably would, but Jason has also been in pretty much a full body cast for the past few months. 

This is Bludhaven anyway. Nightwing and Palach patrol these streets. It's just these assholes' bad luck that it was the latter tonight.

The victim gives him a startled look before a grateful one, and he kind of gets it. Most of Bludhaven still thinks that he's some sort of weird fairy tail, and he doesn't really blame them. Nightwing does not come across as a man to associate with a sniper... Or someone like Palach.

(In the months he's been going by that name, he's been... really putting effort into his persona.)

"Thank you," She says, her voice only slightly wobbly. "I... I could have taken them."

Palach, instead of scoffing, nods seriously, eyeing the muscle tone in her arms.

"I don't doubt it, ma'am," He says, biting back a groan at the weird setting that Dick had set his voice changer to. "You look like a fighter."

She huffed slightly, folding her arms and looking at him judgingly.

"Why do you sound like that?"

"I've not the slightest clue what you're talking about." He knew exactly what she was talking about. Nightwing had obviously not forgotten about the sedatives that Niko had placed in his dinner last week. His voice was coming out dramatically low, closer to Batman's growl than his usual distorted speech. He admitted, it wasn't as bad as it could have been, because Palach had a specific image to uphold, but it was annoying to be reminded of Nightwing being a monumental Dick. 

She nodded slowly, eyebrows furrowed like she was intensely concerned, and sidled awkwardly away from the crippled men. Niko rolled his eyes, made a mental note to complain loudly to his brothers, and fired off a grappling hook, disappearing up into the night.

Jesus, this city smells like shit.

He landed solidly on the roof and carefully removed the cartridge from his prized gun. He weighed it carefully in his left hand, flicking a switch on the rifle that had it folding in on itself, reverting to a hefty, foot-long hunk of metal that slid easily into its cradle on his back.

He didn't have a lot of stun bullets left. Felt like three or four, but he knew better than to rely on that number. He'd have to call Bruce. Batman was a lot of things, but he wasn't angry enough to leave Niko without any stunners for more than a couple of days.

If only because he was sure Niko would be killing people without them.

Niko snorted, rising to his feet and staring straight ahead, in the direction of his apartment. It's not like he never learned how to pull off a non-fatal shot.

Speaking of the equivalent of the forbidden fruit, he'd need to replace the real ones, too. He only had a couple of red cartridges left - stowed away in a safe that took a slightly unreasonable amount of time to open. He was afraid of growing reliant on the special bullets, always practiced with either the black-striped blunts or his deadly reds.

Niko couldn't let himself become out of practice with his real weapons.

He sighed, tucking the blue cartridge into its place on his left hip, between the green-striped explosives and the purple trackers.

And then he remembered exactly what was waiting for him back home.

"Ugh," He dragged a hand down his face. "They owe me the best cup of coffee in the whole damn world."

He readies the grappling gun, aims it deftly at a slightly higher point in a neighboring building-

And then a window blows out right below him.

 

_ Niko never knew that flashbacks like his could keep happening for so long. _

_ It's been years - years since he was in that world. It shouldn't be such a big deal, he's sure - he's so frustrated that he can't just get over it, move on, get used to being in this world. _

_ He wasn't supposed to keep being like that. He was different, this world was different, and yet half of him still acted like he was a fucking soldier again. _

_ When he runs, he still sometimes slips into that frame of mind. He leans forward, positions his arms so he could grab a weapon he no longer carries, and adjusts his gait so he wouldn't be recognised by enemies that aren't there.  _

_ When he trains with his rifle, he still has to fight to keep his shots non-lethal. _

_ When he takes orders, he stands up straighter, and when he's really tired, he still gives the salute - the Seraph Sigil. _

_ (Double tap on the collarbone, for going out and coming home, and a fist in the air for the win.) _

_ And then... Then something explodes, and the sound still leaves Niko's ears ringing with the echoes of the sirens that night. _

_ It's been years, but Niko remembers the exact tones of the blazing alarms before they were cut off by their attackers. _

_ It seems that forgetting the night he died was... Just as difficult as forgetting that he didn't need to kill to survive. _

 

Jack's mother wakes him up by slipping fabric over his head.

He panics for a second, lashes out and scrabbles at her skinny arm, but she pulls away before he can do any damage. The fabric settles over his mouth and nose, snug and soft and...

It's a mask.

It took him until that point to realise that his house is on fire.

"Jack!" His mother shouts, barely audible over the fire crackling in the hallway. She reaches forwards and gathers him in her arms, whirling around and dashing out of his room. She shields him as much as she can with her sleek, grey-feathered wings, but there's only so much she can do. He cries out as the wall of heat slams into them, pulls his limbs in as tight as possible in the hopes of avoiding the tongues of flame.

Lynn Harlow slams into a door down the hall, throwing herself and Jack into the kitchen and crashing down the the ground. Jack rolls to a stop a couple of feet away, staring at his mother as she coughs violently. Her wings draw up defensively, smoking and charred by the blaze in the hallway, and Jack doesn't know whether to touch them or not. 

She hacks and fights for breath, one hand on her throat and the other planted firmly on the floor, though her arm is shaking.

"Mom!" He yells, scrambling forward. She shakes her head, peering at him with red, watery eyes, and he feels like a bug, pinned in place.

"Stay here, Jack!" She coughs, staggering to her feet and heading for the doorway. "Just stay there!"

"Mom!"

Jack reaches out, but Lynn doesn't listen. She covers her face and disappears back into the smoky darkness of the hall, swallowed by the fire.

Jack reaches up, his fingers settling on the material of the mask that he'd gotten from his idol so long ago. It only occurs to him right then that it was real - it was a  _ real _ mask, filtering out the smoke enough that he could breathe properly.

Did Lockliar hand these out randomly to people?

That seemed like an expensive passtime.

Jack jerks up, staring at the hallway door when he hears his mother's voice again.

"Daniel!" She's screaming, voice hoarse. "Daniel, where are you?!"

He frowns. Where is his dad? Why can't she find him?

He takes a step forward, then hesitates. His mother told him to stay, to wait for her to come back. But she needed his help to find his dad. But he didn't want to get burned. But his dad could be hurt.

She told him to stay.

But she was gonna die if he didn't go help her.

Jack takes another step, his resolve hardened. He rolls his shoulders, starts forward-

And the ceiling of the hallway caves in. Jack falls back, a horrified scream tearing itself from his throat.

"Mom!" He screeches, crawling forward and pawing at the burning debris. He regrets this only in the back of his mind, as his hands are scorched. He has to move back when another blast of fire bursts from the rubble.

He moves back to kneel on the somehow-still-cold kitchen tiles. The mask is damp, his vision is blurred, and he's hurting a lot now that he wasn't so desperately digging at the remains of their hallway.

He listens hard, hoping to hear his mother's voice.

There is only fire.

He curls into a ball, breaths coming faster and faster, more and more shallow. His own wings are hidden still, tucked away in his sleep, and he doesn't want to bring them out because he knows they'll only catch fire. The world is darkening at the edges, but he's still hyper-aware of it. The fire seems even hotter, the floor like ice, and his wounds are screaming at him, telling him to run, to get out, to  _ place his palms flat on the floor and call out to it- _

And with a crack and the sound of tinkling glass, the heat is gone.

Jack opens his eyes in shock, staring down at the bleeding smudges and splatters around his hands.

He snaps his head up, and he leans back very suddenly, because holy heck, the fire is still there.

Except... Except he doesn't feel it. He reaches forward, hesitant and possibly kind of stupid and dangerously curious, and he touches the fire.

No reaction. It flickers.

He feels nothing.

"What..." Jack stops and smacks a hand over his mouth, startled by the sound of his own voice. It sounds far too loud, like he'd screeched instead of whispering, and it echoes around him. Almost as if in response, a whisper of sound comes back to him - a halfhearted, crackling echo of the fire in his home.

And here he paused, because...

Because it was still his home - still the same general layout, still squeaky clean and impeccable and burning before his eyes, but everything was the wrong way around. 

The world was backwards. 

The letters on the spines of his father's books were illegible, the numbers on the clock bizarrely mirrored. and wrong, wrong, wrong. The shadows seemed to stretch too long, too dark, reaching across the floor far further than they had any right to.

He trembles, fear growing in his gut, and then something  _ that wasn't there before _ moves in the corner of his eye. He whips around, scrambling away from it...

And almost screams. 

There's a  _ thing _ crouching on the floor only three feet away from him. Pure black, like there was a hole in the world and he was peering into nothing, and motionless where the world seemed to ripple with Jack's every movement. It was misshapen, oddly malformed, but Jack could make out where its limbs were curled in and locked into place.

It doesn't do anything but tilt the mass of darkness that was its head.

Jack tilts his head slowly right back at it, and suddenly he can see teeth - long and sharp and gleaming white, and grinning at him so wide that it's more like baring its fangs.

**"A little young for a Negative, no?"**

It disappears before his very eyes, vanished into thin air, and Jack's heart leaps into his throat.

The weird, echoing world around him is suddenly very loud, all the sounds magnified and echoing and making his head hurt. His eyes are tearing up, and there is a pressure in his chest that is starting to become painful.

What does he do? He doesn't know.

He tries, tries to think it through rationally, but there's little that can be done when you're in  _ hell _ .

The sound didn't change. It was still that deafening, echoing roar of the flames that sounded as though they'd thundered down a glass tunnel and he was standing at the other end.

He could still feel the big hole torn in the side of his shirt from the doorknob. He was still kneeling on the religiously waxed kitchen tiles, now marred by long, spiderweb cracks and smudges of his own blood.

He frowned, suddenly realising that the light was different.

Jack looked up ever-so-slowly, a cry of horror catching in his throat.

The kitchen was completely engulfed in fire. He was kneeling in a terrible mass of golden flames that licked at the ceiling - a ceiling that was bubbling and cracking in the intense heat.

It was going to collapse, like the hallway.

It was an odd sensation. He should be feeling the fire raging around him, hurting him, but he feels nothing. Nothing but a chilling, terrifying whisper across his skin, like a cold breeze on a Summer's day or the bruch of damp grass after a long night of rain.

He made a choked sound, terror and panic and fear driving him to run. He barely noticed that he was running right into another relentlessly clean wall - the tiled mosaic gleamed brightly in the flickering light-

**"Best think quickly, no?"**

And suddenly he was falling, glass shattering behind him with sharp  _ crash _ . His eyes snapped open, staring down at the street several stories below with horror. He flailed, reaching for anything to grab onto to stop his fall, but the side of the building was sheer.

The wind tore at him, and Jack couldn't do anything.

Someone else did, though. Jack fell for two seconds, and then something was wrapping tightly around his ankle, stopping his fall abruptly and causing him to crash suddenly into the building. He let out a cry, wind driven right out of his lungs, and scrunched up his face as he wheezed.

"The fuck did you come from?"

His eyes snapped open and up to a frozen figure, standing precariously on the edge of a building with what looked like a grappling gun in hand, staring down at him with shocked, white eyes. Jack's heart leaps into his throat.

"P-Palach?" He squeaked, and the man tilted his head sharply, narrowing his eyes. Then he gasped.

"Is that you, Jack?"

Jack nodded, startling when he was suddenly yanked up towards the man. Palach looked beyond confused as he took Jack's ankle in his hand, hoisting him carefully over the side of the building and dropping him less carefully onto the roof. 

"What the fuck, kid?" Palach snapped, reaching out to grab Jack's chin and turning his head this way and that, probably looking for bruises. "Why would you do that? Why are you even here?"

Jack blinked. "Here is..."

"Bludhaven, Jack," Palach scowled. "You live in Gotham!"

Jack startled, looking around. He's... Really high up. And...

"Oh," He mumbled, turning back to Palach. "I, uh..." Jack closed his eyes, taking note of his shaking hands.

It wasn't the cold, though the air was chilly.

What... What just happened?

"Can we talk?" He asked suddenly, quietly, and Palach's whole stature shifts. He crouched down in front of Jack, shifted so that the light hit his face instead of hiding it.

"Jack," Palach said, his eyebrows furrowed deeply. "Jack, what happened?"

 

_ Palach bursts into his own home with a loud curse and a spectacular slam of the door. Dick is immediately on his feet, motioning for Jason and Tim to stay sitting down. _

_ "Niko!" Dick calls, starting towards the door and sticking his head around, peering judgingly at the man who walks towards them. "Niko, what are you-" _

_ And then he sees the kid - the small, blonde-haired boy that Niko cradled in his arms. Niko narrows his eyes dangerously at Dick and brushes past, striding angrily into his apartment. Jason and Tim gasp at the sight of the two of them as Niko places the boy carefully onto the coffee table, moving quickly to the kitchen for one of his first-aid kits. _

_ "Jason, Dick!" Niko snaps, yanking the box free of its hidey hole with a little more force than necessary. "Wrap his hands." _

_ He frisbees the kit at Dick's head, and it's only barely caught before it breaks the man's nose. Dick stares at Niko, mouth agape, as he angrily removes his contacts, shoving them into the box he pulled from his belt. _

_ "Niko-" Jason begins, already reaching for the blonde boy's left hand as Dick moves to take hold of the right. _

_ "If I try," Niko says darkly, clenching his hands into fists and pressing them to his temples, "I'm probably gonna hurt him." _

_ "What happened?" Dick asks tensely. Niko scowls. _

_ "I'll tell you what," He scowls. "Someone burned this kid's fucking apartment building down!" _

_ "Christ." _

_ "When?" _

_ "I don't fucking know, it was in Gotham. Musta been a couple hundred people in that shit!" _

_ Tim startles, seemingly unable to look away from the raging hero. His mouth is hanging open, and Jason has half a mind to snort at the poor kid. It's not like Niko goes out of his way to make these kinds of first impressions. _

_ He doesn't laugh, though. He's kinda busy trying to figure out how the fuck this was happening. _

_ "Gotham?" He asks, covering the kid's blistering, bleeding hands in salve and wrapping them carefully with clean bandages. "How the fuck did he get here from Gotham?" _

_ "Izvineniya za suki. He fucking fell through the window." _

_ "What? That makes no sense!" _

_ Niko makes a strangled sound of confusion and Jason shuts up. In his own words, there was only so much fuckery that he could put up with daily. _

_ The blonde was probably in shock. He was staring, transfixed, at his apparent saviour, green eyes wide and pretty much unseeing. _

_ "He's in shock," Tim says quietly, apparently having manages to gather himself, and Jason inwardly rolls his eyes. No shit. _

_ "He would be," Niko replies, voice abruptly much quieter. He sighs, running his hands through his mop of hair (How long since he last cut it?). "You must be Tim." _

 

Jason and Dick end up sleeping in his bed, while Tim takes the couch. 

Niko likes Tim. He's small and skinny and looks about as healthy as an overcooked noodle, but his wit's as sharp as any knife and he's completely unafraid to use his knowledge to his advantage.

Niko's secret identity is sort of a mishmash of bullshit, but he's impressed that the kid could connect him to anything, given that he technically didn't exist.

Jason likes him, anyway. Niko is about a hundred precent sure that Jason had taken one look at Tim and thought to himself, 'Wow, this will definitely piss Bruce off,' because Jason is sort of a petty bitch.

Dick has no problems, because he's as ridiculous and extra as Jason, and Niko has no idea why it's his fault, but he feels like it is.

But then there's Jack.

Jack curls up in as small a ball as he can and cries himself to sleep. Niko knows that the boy is ten, eleven at most, and something he'd left deeply buried within him raises its head and has him wrapping himself around the kid as well as he can to keep him warm, to give him comfort. 

(Niko has a weakness for children, but this is a kid he knows, a kid he talks to, a kid who maybe might still see him as a hero, and Niko can't let him down because he's lost too much already)

Jack wakes up far too early in the morning (And that's so much like Dick, who wakes with the dawn because he's always afraid the sun won't ever rise again), and Niko knows he does because Niko hasn't slept a wink, but he doesn't move. He curls closer into Niko, presses his face into the warmth of his abdomen (Jason, just like Jason on the bad nights, the long nights back when it was just the two of them).

Niko remembers losing his mother - his mother, Mary, who he hasn't thought about in so long and god, it feels like a betrayal.

It's a dark, painful kinship that he feels with this boy, but it's there, and Niko owes it to both Jack and himself to stay still and hold fast until Jack has the strength to get up.

Dick takes up patrols for the next few nights, leaves Niko in his home to fuss over the three younger boys. 

It's an unspoken agreement between the two older boys. Dick knew very well that Niko wouldn't leave the three of them undefended without being forced to, no matter how much the man protested, and Niko knew that Dick was liable to need to keep a closer watch on his city after even hearing about such a horrible event as more than a hundred people burning to death.

(Niko's apartment is home to two new people - one an orphan for all of a year, the other for no more than a few days.

Niko wonders how he could have thought things were just going to be okay.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ladies and gents, the next chapter is going to be the beginning of YJ: Invasion. It's going to be a bit hectic, and updates will be random due to my having things I should be doing, but stuff WILL happen. I've had to change a few things up, and I don't know if this chapter seems a bit rushed. Leave your feedback, please, I always appreciate it. Helps me get better.   
> Thanks!


	10. Foreign

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello.  
> I'm alive.  
> Surprise!  
> Yeah, so, I was... Very much caught up with a whole bunch of stuff, and I only finished this chapter like a half an hour ago. But it's okay!!! I didn't fail any classes, my significant other still loves me, and my car still goes vroom vroom.  
> Without further adieu, please enjoy Chapter 10: Foreign.

The time between Tim's adoption by Bruce Wayne and the year everything went to hell passed like the snap of fingers.

In July, the original six members of Young Justice took a mission to investigate a suspicious energy surge in Reykjavik. They came across a large group of extraterrestrials, building equipment that they didn't recognise, in a place that should have been empty.

The aliens escaped, but by then it was too late. Young Justice knew of their presence. It was only a matter of how long it would take to find and catch them all.

Throughout the following months, Young Justice sank into a rhythm. Pinpoint the aliens, seek them out, and deal with the situation as required. More often than not, the solution was violence, much to the chagrin of the senior and honorary members. The task was often grisly, and civilian casualties were growing far greater a concern as time went on and the aliens learned how to blend in even better among the human civilisation.

By the New Year, the aliens were almost impossible to spot without extensive research beforehand. Even Palach's sharp eye for anything remotely inhuman was forced to rely more and more heavily on the technology provided for him, albeit grudgingly, by the Bat.

By February, Young Justice was forced to divert the majority of its attention to the aliens and the possibility of an all-out underground war.

 

_ "Jack, the first thing I'll tell you is that the name you choose and everything that name comes to mean will belong solely to you. For now I'll teach you the basics, but you will come to set your own limitations, your own guidelines, your own goals, and you will uphold them no matter what. Tell me, Jack, what's your goal?" _

_ "I... I don't know." _

_ "Then you will not learn until you know it. What should dictate your actions and your choices are your own beliefs, driven by your goal. My job as your mentor is to make sure that you reach the fullest potential that you can. My job as your brother is to catch you should that potential weigh you down." _

_ "What... What if what I want for myself is revenge? What if that's my goal?" _

_ "Then I will show you how to keep that revenge from turning you into something you'd hate." _

_ "What if I don't want to kill people?" _

_ "Then I will not teach you to kill. That's an easy one, Jack. My way of dealing with criminals is born from my past and my own dubious morality. You will have your own way, and if I can help it, your ledger will stay as clean as you want it." _

_ "What if..." _

_ "Jack?" _

_ "What if... When I'm done forming my own... Morals... What if then I think  _ you're _ a bad guy?" _

_ "... You won't be wrong." _

_ "Do... Do you think you're a bad guy?" _

_ "I don't think I'm a good one, that's for sure. But I've said it before, and I'll say it again; good and bad are relative. As long as there's people who are bad guys in comparison to myself, there's still work to be done." _

 

The cool air is a balm on Jason's skin, the clinging fog of the morning in Happy Harbour a welcome chill after all the stress of his return to the world of vigilantism. He has to squint against the light that is magnified so powerfully by the drifting mists so that he isn't blinded, and the lenses in his mask make the colours look deeper than they probably are. 

He's happy where he is, perched precariously on a hidden outcropping, facing the town, watching the sunlight dance across the sea and the sky, despite the burning in his eyeballs from the piercing light.

He rubs absently at his shoulder, face twitching briefly into a grimace of pain. It's still a little stiff on the cooler days, but it's not like he can't deal with it. Hell, he'd gladly take the deep-seated ache of his healed bones over death.

"J-Red?"

Jason turns his head, a smirk ready on his lips even before his eyes land on Robin's slight frame, hovering awkwardly a few feet away.

"Robin," He replies smoothly. "Y'alright?"

Tim nods, teeth worrying briefly at his lip before he starts forward to plop down at the older boy's side. Jason automatically slings an arm over the kid's shoulder, feels him shiver, and wonders if it's too small a space for him to pull out his wings and wrap them around his brother.

Tim hadn't really grown all that much - he was still petite, though not as tiny as Jason knew Dick had once been. But he was lean instead of skinny, lithe instead of skeletal, and his skin wasn't as pale or easy to bruise. He still looked like a vampire sometimes, when he pulled all-nighters like an idiot, but he was healthier.

Happier.

"Jack called," Tim says, after a moment of silence, staring out at the beauty of the harbour, and Jason frowns, his grip tightening slightly on the younger's arm. Tim nudges him softly, a smile pulling at the corner of his lip as he turned to give Jason that  _ look _ . 

"Nothing bad," He said, a smirk flickering across his face. "Just wanted to know if we could meet up with Palach and do a patrol together tonight."

Ah, right. Jason had known they'd be getting another call soon. Blondie was restless, but no matter what he did, Niko refused to budge on his rules. No patrolling without backup. 

_ "Justice is important, but it's nothing compared to your life - no matter what the Capes think. If you want to fight, fine, but it won't be until you're ready to take to the field." _

"What about Nightwing?" Jason asked, raising an eyebrow. "Is Jackie playing favourites now?"

Tim snorted.

"We both know Jack probably likes Nightwing more than Palach," And that's a lie, they both know it, because Niko was Jack's best friend and mentor, but Dick was practically the kid's mother. "Nightwing's going on a mission tonight."

Jason sighed dramatically. "And leaving his city all to Palach while he goes off to have fun is a good idea?"

Tim rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Palach hates aliens."

"Why even?" There are almost literally a thousand reasons for the guy to hate aliens, but Jason makes light of it because that's what he does. That's what they all do. It's not like the guy's terrified of anything non-human, he gets along quite well with Superboy, but the odd spike in extraterrestrial activity planetside has been making them all uneasy.

Niko's fine sticking with the human stuff most of the time. Gives the rest more time to focus on the aliens.

"He watches too many sci-fi movies."

 

_ Jack frowned at the weapon in his hands, peeking up at his guardian through his lashes. Niko (Lockliar, Palach, his hero, his  _ guardian _ ) was standing with his arms crossed, watching Jack run his fingers carefully along the flat of the blade. _

_ "A trench knife?" Jack asks after a while, frowning. Niko nods. _

_ "You're not going to be a long-range fighter," Niko says, his voice soft. "Your powers, this ability to jump in a mirror and pop up wherever, it's too good a tactical advantage for you to waste your time staying back. It'd be foolish to keep you far off when there's so much potential for you as a close-range fighter." _

_ Jack frowned. "It's not like I can control it." _

_ "Of course you can't." Niko places a warm hand on Jack's shoulder, and the blonde tilts his head up. The elder smiled. "But with training, you're capable of becoming an incredible fighter, and a real hero. More than I could hope to be." _

_ Jack feels a pang of warmth and excitement in his gut, but his frown only deepens. "But you're a sniper. You're long-range. You've said it yourself, you don't have the kind of skills needed to keep up a fight when it's up-close and personal." _

_ Niko grins outright then, eyes gleaming mischievously as he cocks his head. "I can teach you the basics, Jack. Any sniper worth his salt can hold his own halfway-decently in a close-range fight - it's dangerous to rely on long range so much that you can get picked off easily by a guy with a butterknife. It's not much, but I find that it's a good place to start. It's also a good thing I know some damn good vigilantes who wouldn't mind teaching you everything you need." _

 

Dick figured that Jason would have wanted to take Robin back from Tim the moment he got his casts removed, but he hadn't. He'd taken more to... Hovering. Like Nightwing and Palach had hovered over Jason, Jason hovered over Tim.

It was cute, really. Jason was cute. And Jason may be sixteen now, and perfectly capable of incredible, monstrous feats of strength and athletic ability, but he was still Dick's little brother, and he's still cute.

Tim... Thrived. He wasn't Robin as Dick had been, nor as Jason was. He was so different, and Robin, once again, meant something else.

Dick was hope and a light in the dark, Jason was strength and an iron will, and Tim was intelligence and steady devotion to his family and mentor.

He bloomed in his own way, that boy.

Tim had ended up living at Wayne manor, because Niko is capable of many things, but he can't support his mooching brothers and two new charges while maintaining his vigilante persona. 

Jason's own new persona, Red Talon, had been a painful shock for Niko to experience when the kid was finally field-ready again. 

Dick didn't pretend to know everything about his brothers, but he was pretty sure that he knew what the problem was.

Jason looked nothing like Ledger, the boy that Niko talked about so softly, with such warmth and pain in his eyes. Dick was pretty sure that Jason had been looking through the rough sketches that Niko thought they didn't know about just to make sure. He wore a red-lined mask and a suit similar to Nightwing's, though he strangely opted for a leather jacket over the top of the armoured bodysuit. He had even included the bird, splayed across his chest, though cherry red instead of Dick's own electric blue.

Jason liked to pretend that he didn't know how much it meant to Dick, wearing his symbol with such pride, but Dick knows that he'd defend the thing to his final breath. Lord, does that make his heart ache  _ so much _ .

Jason had had to completely reinvent himself. His injuries had left him incapable of fighting in the same style as he had as Robin, so he created his own style mostly from scratch.

Mostly, because Niko still remembered the odd tricks that 'Syx' had taught him of close-combat.

Niko was very quickly outdone in that field though, and it was plainly obvious who was better up close and personal. It was less surprising than was good for the guy's ego, but luckily, Dick was both better than Niko and spent a majority of his time with Jason and the team. 

Niko seemed to have found that one of his more favoured pastimes was watching Jason try to kick Dick's ass, only to be avoided. After one such session, Niko had given Dick a smile so bright it was almost blinded him, then told him that Dick would remind him of a snake in the grass if he'd ever actually seen a snake in the grass.

(A dark joke, like the ones that he sometimes tossed around with Nightwing when he was tipsy. A wry mention, a passing thought that he'd blurt out sardonically and with a roll of his eyes.

"First you hit the table. Then you panic because you've attracted the serial killers. Then you get that cardio."

"Everyone in Gotham is afraid of clowns. It's weird. Everyone in Spectre was afraid of the letter 'S'. It was practically socially outlawed. Like most of the kids I ever saw spelled snake with a 'Z'."

"I would love the colour of my eyes if it weren't for exactly what colour they are.")

Niko himself... Well. Palach mostly patrols alone through Bludhaven, cleans up the filth from the streets only to have to do it again the next night because Bludhaven is a cesspool of crime and nastiness. It's gotten to the point that if Nightwing is spotted patrolling with Palach, crime rates skyrocket, because the slimy bastards know that Nightwing is kinder than his brother ever could be.

Plot twist, though: Niko's always more likely to seriously injure the idiots on those nights, because Niko is always up for mind fuckery.

And then there's the matter of Niko's...

Damn, he'll never get used to talking about his brother's protege.

The blonde boy that Niko had brought to his home on the night they all met Tim was a quiet presence in Niko's home whenever Dick was around. He kept to himself as much as he sort of gravitated towards Niko.

Then, about four months previous, he'd approached Dick and his brothers where they'd settled in the living room, and asked that they teach him how to fight.

Of course, Dick was mostly against it at first, but then he remembered that this was a kid who accidentally fell through mirrors and had no idea how to protect himself if he ended up somewhere suspicious. Niko had-

"Nightwing!"

Dick flinched away from the sound, a movement that was probably only barely visible. He turned around, raising an eyebrow at his younger brothers as they strode towards him.

"Red, Robin," Dick nodded as they came to a stop in front of him. "What's up?"

Jason shrugged, tucking his hands into the pockets on his jacket. It was battered and scorched, but Jason had somehow managed to keep it mostly intact. 

"Blondie wants us to run a patrol with him and Palach tonight," Tim said, lips twitching into a frown as they usually did at Jason's nonchalance. "Just wanted to make sure you didn't need us."

Dick nodded, already adjusting his plan to account for their absence. Usually he'd have them with him, watching over from above, and they'd drop in if there was a need for it. Without them, it'd probably be best to bring Garfield and M'gann with him. He'd have to make sure to call Niko and go through all the possible positions for snipers or backup with him-

"Thanks for letting me know, guys," Dick said after a couple of second of silence. He'd almost completely forgotten that he did have to reply to them at some point, and judging from the tiny smirk on both their shitty faces, they had caught the mistake. 

"Any handy advice for us before we leave?" Jason grinned.

Dick snorted. "I mean, don't trip?"

Tim sighed, then threw his arms up. "Wow, sacred advice from our elder. My thanks, oh wise one."

Jason cackled. "Yeah, thanks, senpai."

Dick groaned and pinched the pinch of his nose, but there was no way to high the upturn of his lips from his little brothers.

"You're both terrible," Dick sighed, turning his gaze up as if in prayer, "What did I do to deserve this torment?"

"You hung out with Batman, the all-father, father of all."

Dick made a face and turned away completely. "You're both terrible and will be missed."

"Aww, Nightwing, you're so-"

"By Wally. Wally will miss you."

"Not you, oh exalted one?"

"No, not me, I don't like you, you're mean to me. Now go away."

Jason clapped a hand on Dick's shoulder with a laugh, slinking off toward the zeta tubes with Tim right on his tail. Dick's eyes were drawn to his legs, the uneven steps that were only noticeable because Dick knew the bones in his legs had been almost completely shattered, knew that the nerves were so damaged that he was lucky to be able to walk, let alone fight.

Dick shook his head, scowling at himself. Jason was fine. He knew his limits, and if he went over them, he had a family to pull him back.

He swiped his hand across the projection to close it down. 

 

_ “Come on, Jackie," Niko says, a smirk dancing across his lips, "Hold your guard!" _

_ Jack grits his teeth and raises his hands back into the high guard, fixing his eyes intently on Niko's face. _

_ "Good," Niko says, a flash of pride going through his eyes as he strikes out again, only for Jack to block the blow with his forearm. "That's good, well done. Let's try again." _

_ Jack nods silently, narrowing his eyes in concentration as Niko slipped into his own stance. Jack was pretty sure that boxing was most of what Niko knew, because he seemed to automatically use the same starting stance every time. It was close enough to what Jack recognised as a low-hand guard that Niko could easily come across as a streetfighter - and that's what he was, really. _

_ Niko lashed out again, this time with a leg, and Jack turned his body to catch the blow with both arms, ducking under the swing at his head that followed. He leapt back, only barely dodging the sweeping kick to his legs. _

_ "Good, that's good. Light on your feet, keep moving. You can't take a lot of hits, you're too small for that now, so you're gonna have to make sure you stay out of the way, but you wanna win, you gotta win fast." _

_ Jack scowled and ducked past another punch that came all too close to his face, and struck out at Niko's side. The older man, instead of dodging the blow, let it land, bringing both of his arms around so that Jack's own arms were trapped to his side. _

_ "Niko!" Jack squawked, kicking at the man's shins as he was lifted and spun around in the air. "Come on, that's not how you'd win a fight!" _

_ "Maybe not," Niko cackled, setting Jack down on the ground again and ruffling his hair, "But hugging you is better than knocking you out with an elbow to the neck. You did good, kid. We'll try again this afternoon." _

 

The desert at night was frigid wasteland. The sand was bluish, coarse, and cold, and the new moon provided none of its otherworldly light to see by. There were few clouds tonight - few clouds ever, even on the outskirts of Bialya - but even their glow did nothing to alleviate the velvety darkness.

It was under the cover of this darkness that the team found one of their few advantages.

_ 'Alright,' _ Nightwing turned slightly to look at Beast Boy and Miss Martian. The three of them were perched precariously in the rafters, looking down over the milling soldiers and aliens alike down below.  _ 'We're in. The rest of you, your five minute window starts on my signal. Watch out for scouts, don't let yourselves be seen.' _

_ 'Roger that.' _

_ 'What exactly are we looking for right now?' _

Nightwing blinked, eyes flicking up towards the sky where he could just make out the outline of the bioship. He marvelled so often at how high the quality of the camouflage was. He'd miss it if he didn't know exactly where it was.

_ 'Whatever caused that energy surge,' _ Nightwing replied, looking back down at his holo-glove and tapping away at the screen. The security feeds needed to be looped perfectly, and temporary at that. Their escape needed to be swift, so he couldn't leave the security so obviously tampered with. ‘ _ It was powerful enough that we picked it up, but too unstable to hold out for more than a few seconds at a time. None of the League or other contacts were able to recognise it. For all we know, it could be anything from a light bulb to a bomb.' _

_ 'So... Find and destroy?' _

_ 'Only if necessary. It's covert unless we have to make a move. Hopefully, we won't need to engage, just gather intel.' _

_ 'Alright. Let's go.' _

 

_ At first, Niko trains Jack the way Syx had trained him. _

_ It's a reliable strategy. Syx was a patient man, knew the ins and outs and all-arounds of fighting close up. He believed that there was no good soldier who was unable to protect him-or-herself. He'd trained Niko using the odd scraps of knowledge that he'd picked up from his mother, fit them perfectly into the solid constructs of his simple, yet effective fighting style. _

_ 'Protect your head' became 'Guard your upper body to save yourself from irreversible injury'. _

_ 'Watch your feathers' became 'Keep a sharp eye on your every asset'. _

_ 'Eyes front' became 'See all, but watch the fight'. _

_ Syx taught Niko to fight just like he'd taught Niko's mother. And really, it was Syx who taught Jack as well. _

_ After a while, though, Niko knows that he's not enough. He knows very well that he'd never be able to match up to a specialist in the field, that he's confined mostly to long-range and sniping. Jack gets better and better and learns so quickly that it's almost scary. When he's not practicing his combat style, he's trying to get a grip on his abilities, something that Niko can't really help with outside of teaching him mental exercises. _

_ (Niko's no meta, and his cursed alien heritage has nothing to offer him, and he doesn't truly understand) _

_ One day, Jack gets him. _

_ In a second, he disappears with a sharp  _ crack _ , and Niko's left staring at a sizable spiderweb of cracks in the clean, semi-reflective floor as the blonde reappears behind him and whacks him in the side with his stick. _

_ Niko grunts and staggers, and Jack sweeps his legs out from under him in a move that Nightwing had probably taught him. _

_ (There would be  _ words _ ) _

_ "When," Niko gasps, staring wide-eyed at his protege as Jack grins brightly down at him, stick still held steadily at his jaw. "When did you learn that?" _

_ "I've..." Jack's smile widens, and his heavy breathing doesn't seem to register as he stands at ease, planting now-empty hands at his hips. "I've been practising. Tim gave me the idea." _

_ Niko nodded dumbly, staring at the bright green of Jack's eyes as the boy's smile falters at his silence. _

_ "Did I..." Jack blinks, "Did I do something wrong?" _

_ What the fuck. _

_ "No." _

_ "... Why are you staring?" _

_ "That was amazing." _

 

Nightwing stared at the swirl of light and heat, face draining of blood even as it collapsed in on itself once more.

_ 'That,' _ He thought absently,  _ 'Is no light bulb.' _

_ 'What is that?' _ Beast Boy asked, eyes wide in fear. His hair was standing up on end, which would have been funny if they weren't in the situation they were in.

_ 'It looks like a...' _ He narrowed his eyes,  _ 'Portal.' _

_ 'Portal to where, though?' _

_ 'I don't know.' _

_ 'What do we do?' _

Nightwing was about to answer when his comm unit exploded into static. He grit his teeth, wincing, and reached up, turning it down as far as he could while Miss Martian and Beast Boy recoiled from the sudden sound in their own earpieces.

_ 'What happened?' _ Wally's voice rang loudly through their heads.  _ 'Who's hurt?' _

_ 'Something's happening to our comms,' _ Nightwing replied tensely, cupping his whole hand over the side of his face and frowning. That... Didn't happen.  _ 'Burst of static. Interference. I'm pretty sure it's from the-' _

**Ledger, Status!**

Nightwing froze.

_ 'Nightwing?' _

_ '... Portal.' _ Nightwing frowned.  _ 'Miss Martian, Beast Boy, did you hear that?' _

_ 'Yeah,' _ Miss Martian frowned.  _ 'Ledger... It sounds familiar...' _

Nightwing blinked in realisation.  _ 'Ledger, Red Ledger. Palach... It's...' _

Miss Martian gasped softly, then frowned.  _ 'It's a portal to his world,' _ She thought grimly, turning back to face the collapsing portal. 

Nightwing nodded, dumbfounded, as the aliens and people below them shut down the portal again. After a moment or two, it started up again.

A spark of light, then a blazing ring of fire, and then once more, a gaping hole.

A hole  _ between realities _ .

Except that...

Nobody was moving to go through it. Nobody tried to approach it.

They were all tending to...

_ 'This thing is drawing energy from the portal, _ Nightwing's eyes followed the long cord to which all the sides of the frame were connected all the way over to the wall full of glowing tubes.  _ 'They're... charging something.' _

**Tern, h... -on, Tern-**

_ 'Nightwing...' _

**-er, rep-t-**

_ 'Nightwing, what do we do?' _

**-ERN-**

_ 'The Static,' _ He realised, physically jolting back.  _ 'It's not interference, it's... It's something else. They're...' _

_ 'Damaging the pathway between realities,' _ Wally finished for him.  _ 'They're weakening the stability of that plane of existence-' _

_ 'They're going to destroy everything on the other side of the gate.' _

Miss Martian and Beast Boy froze, staring at the once-more dying light of the portal. It shuddered even more this time as it closed, and the comms gave a loud screech.

**Dami...**

His blood froze.

_ 'Destroy it,' _ Nightwing said suddenly, rising so that he was balanced perfectly on the beam, ready to leap down. His eyes zeroed in on a spot on the frame - near the base, open, vulnerable. If he could get a birdarang-  _ 'Take it down, now!' _

_ 'Copy that. Moving in. _

 

_ "What's the verdict?" _

_ Lockliar glanced over his shoulder, eyes drawn to the long, faint scar that ran down the side of Ledger's bare face. _

_ "It's gonna be tough," He replied, almost automatically, turning back to the plans. "There's a whole lot of defenses. If we want to get through them all, we'll have to be fast and perfectly timed, and there's no room for mistakes. This'll be solely a mission for the elite squads. You, me, and Tern, then Ferris and Takata squads." _

_ Ledger sighed, "We already knew this wouldn't be easy. Have you talked to them?" _

_ "I have, they're on board. But this isn't all," Lockliar ran a hand through his hair, fingers getting caught in the tangles. He grimaced. He'd need to cut it again soon. "There's readings of precursors to those same energy surges from Moscow and Reykjavik. Odds are, our only window lines right up with it, which means unpredictable variables, which means an unpredictable outcome for a battle we have no choice but to pick." _

_ "Shit," Ledger sighed, running a hand through his hair and starting forward. He leaned against the table, staring at the plans and notes sprawled all around on the surface. "Well, what can we expect, Gravity wells?" _

_ "Most likely," Lockliar replied. "Just like the other times. Gravity wells are almost a given, but this one's a lot bigger than the others. Remember Hawaii?" _

_ Ledger frowned. "Yeah, they said there were warps?" _

_ "More like rips. They heal quickly, but we have no idea what they actually are outside of guessing. This... It looks like it's gonna be a lot stronger than Hawaii. I'd say closer to Tobruk." _

_ "Did you talk to Iskatel about the twisty-thingies?" _

_ "The grav-tech? Yeah, it'll be here pretty soon. We can leave midday tomorrow, get there at nightfall." _

_ Ledger nodded, frowning at the charts spread over the walls. _

_ "These energy surges," He said slowly. "You don't think they're from the Kryptonians." _

_ "No." Lockliar sighed. "I don't think that's what they are. Neither does Iskatel, or Syx. It doesn't match their intent. They want subjugation, not eradication, not extinction. And with the damage these warps have been causing? I don't think it's them. I also don't think that their purpose is mass destruction. I think it's more of a... Side effect." _

_ "What pieces are you putting together in your head, Lockliar?" _

_ "Just the ones that fit best." _

_ "So..." Ledger frowned. "Outside influence? A third party?" _

_ Lockliar sighed, glancing over the papers once more. _

_ "Something like that." _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that end part, that was just a sort of look into what the aliens are doing? The effect they're having?  
> The idea is that they're sort of messing with the fabric of reality to draw in huge amounts of energy, and it works. Except that it causes mass destruction. Time streams run weirdly together, and the timeline that the aliens are drawing off of (the closest one to their own reality because of that connection through Niko), so now everything's going weird.  
> It makes sense. Maybe only to me, but it does make sense. I promise.  
> As always, I appreciate all of your feedback, and I hope you all enjoyed the chapter.  
> Let me know what you think, and I'll get back to you with the next chapter... When I finish it.  
> Have a lovely day/night/life!  
> \- Cross


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